The K Squared 100
by the Zoshi
Summary: 100 shorts of Kenny and Kyle. Slash and friendship, based on 100 words from a random word generator. UPDATED 02 13 2009 71 to go! :D PS: New Chap. Has Sharks! READ PLZ xD
1. Computerized

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

I won't lie. I was inspired by **cjmarie's 100 Words of Stan and Kyle** (hint: Go read it!)

Only, while cjmarie was blackmailed by a friend, I was blackmailed by… myself? I guess. :D  
I just felt like doing a 100 theme thing, only making it K-Squared oriented.

YAY!

Please, please, please REVIEW. I love reviews. And I love reviewers. And I will send you telepathic cookies if you do. :P

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100  
Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13  
Category: South Park  
Genre: General/Romance  
Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 1: Computerized**

"Hey, Kyle… you awake?"

A hum starts up somewhere in the room. Kenny speaks softly, but I hear him as clearly as if he spoke straight into my ear.

Maybe he did, I muse.

The klak-klak-klak of the internal fan starts up, revolving slowly, until the blades reach the necessary speed. The klaks recede as it settles into its familiar rhythm.

"I'm awake."

I feel the words rather than hear them. Synapses, synapses, all wires now. I hear Kenny hum a wordless tune as the hard drives kick in. Their electric hum joins the one of the CPU and that of the generator by the wall. A few clatters in the back of one of the drives catches my attention; that can't be good, I'll have to ask Kenny to get a technician in here.

"How long have you been up?" I ask. Halfway through the sentence I pick up the vibrations instead of just feeling the words flicker through the wires. I give a mental shudder at the sound of them, halting and mechanical, in the rooms cool air.

"Not too long…" I hear his yawn and know he's lying.

"Sorry." I say as the camera feed finally fires up. "I didn't mean to be out for so long."

"Its not your fault." Kenny grins up at the camera in front of him. There's one more to the side by the window, and another on the table to the right of him. That one's feed is flickering, and I hear the hard drives fire up again as impulses shoot through wires. They still haven't been able to fix everything.

"So, whaddya wanna do today?" Kenny asks, leaning back in the office chair he's sitting on and twirling around slowly.

"Go for a walk in the park." I answer. There's a second before Kenny laughs, twirling the chair around to face back at the camera.

"You know, I always expect something different…" He grins, putting his arms behind his head.

"You should know better by now, its been what…" I pause, pretending to think. Useless really, the information pops up and through my consciousness before I can really focus on it.

"Ten decades?" Kenny says thoughtfully, then winks in the direction of the camera. "Give or take a decade."

I laugh. The sound is just as mechanical and halting as my voice, but Kenny's smile deepens.

"Since when have we started counting decades instead of years?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

"Since you got your brain transferred into a fish tank?" He says jokingly, tapping his knuckles against the side of the large glass tube.

"Probably…" I answer, watching him. The cameras record every moment, every second. It's a safety for me, a sort of security blanket. Each time he dies I replay the moments, pause, rewind. I can see it all again. It helps the hours pass until he comes back.

"I have to say Kyle, for going on over-one-hundred, your brain's still looking sexy as ever…" Kenny gives me his best leer. I stay silent for a moment, focusing on him. His blue eyes, still bright, still so full of life, His blond hair, longer than it had been when he was younger but still as unruly as ever. His roguish charm never left him; he's still as wild as he ever was, if his deaths have anything to say about it.

"I don't understand you, Kenny…" I say. I want to say it softly, but there's only so much a computerized voice can do.

"Whaddya mean? I mean, yeah, taking a brain to bed would be awkward, but hey…" He shrugs, chuckling.

The hum of the processor lowers a little; its an active effort on my part, to try to pause for a moment in more than just appearance.

"You should've found someone else by now. You should've found _dozens_ of someone-else's." I say after a moment.

Kenny is in the middle of a spin on the chair when I speak, and by the time he turns around he has a highly quizzical look on his face.

"Are you kidding me?" He asks, and for once he sounds entirely serious. "Who else would… Who else would stick by someone who's never going to really die? Who else is going to be around forever?"

I stay quiet. It's a valid argument, I'm forced to admit. The hum-whir-klik of the hard drives going into motion rises. I'm sifting through the years, decades, of our time. The physical memories are a small percentage by now; for so long my memories have been of watching him, talking to him, distanced forever by the limitations of metal and wires and a fish tank.

"…but don't you ever want out, Kenny?" I ask, seeing all those images flashing through my conscious mind. "Don't you ever want someone… someone you can touch?"

His face falls. His eyes are sad. I want to say something, but I don't know what. A moment passes, then he leans forward, lays his forehead against the cold glass of the tank, his arms wrapped around the base.

"The…" His voice cracks, and he pauses before continuing. "The scientists say that, you know, someday they'll be able to… remake bodies."

"In how long? A few decades? A few tens of decades?" I'm bitter, but the computerized voice doesn't get it across. Kenny chuckles.

"Does it matter?" He shifts his head so he can face the camera again. His eyes are glittering like they usually do. "I have forever. _We_ have forever."

I force the whir of the processor drop, slowing the light-quick processes to a more… human… level. I'm just a brain, covered in wires and connected to one of the most powerful computers in existence. But I can still feel emotions.

I wish I could show them. I wish a lot of things. I wish I was still human. I wish the accident never happened. But maybe it was for the better.

"Kenny…" I start, a question in my mind rising up again. Strange, it should've been on my list sooner.

"Yeah…" he answers, slightly groggy. He was falling asleep, I realize. I feel bad waking him, but he's already looking into the camera expectantly.

"When did you stop aging?" A strange question, I guess. The only time I noticed it was when I really thought about the passing of time; I'd always expected Kenny to be young and energetic, no thought otherwise had ever struck me.

"I dunno…" He shrugged, crossing his arms on the desk and laying his head on them. He's starting to doze off again.

"You should really get to bed…" I say, but he just mutters something incomprehensible back. I can imagine how long he'd stayed up, waiting for me to come back after the most recent round of technical check-ups. I forcefully shut down processes that don't need to be running and put myself into sleep mode. While the cameras still record, my last conscious vision is that of Kenny, dozing peacefully on the desk.

We have decades to wait, but Kenny's right. We have forever.

And maybe, one day in the future, I'll be more than just a brain stuck in a fish tank.


	2. Tracking

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

So yeah, the next one! Aren't you all happy?  
This one is a little... interesting? Um, careers... somewhere? I hope it makes sense by the end of it...

Thanks to:  
**Zakuyoe** (i love you :D)  
**Milkshakehobo  
tchaku**

You guys made my day! I shower you with telepathic hearts and cake!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 2: Tracking**

The late morning sun glistened brightly off the pure white snow surrounding them. The great expanse was broken only by the tall, narrow pines of the sparse forest. Kyle breathed heavily through the thick woolen scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. His eyes scanned the area before them, searching for any sign of passing.

"There!" He said, looking back at his partner.

Kenny paused, looking past Kyle towards where he pointed.

"Are you sure?" He asked, skeptical.

"I'm sure, come on." Kyle replied, then, adjusting his pack, continued on through the snow. Kenny followed after a moment, his own snowshoes sinking slightly as he trudged on. He eyed the knee deep snow warily; just because the snowshoes had kept him on top of it for the past few weeks didn't mean they'd continue doing that forever.

It took them a few minutes to reach the place that Kyle had pointed out. Once there he dropped to his knees next to the depression in the snow and pulled off one of his gloves.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" Kenny asked, not hiding the disgust in his voice. Kyle snorted, holding his hand over the pile of dung in the depression.

"Still warm, he isn't far..." Kyle said happily, pulling his thick glove back on. He glanced up at Kenny, raised an eyebrow. "What? You thought I was going to touch it?"

"I... I just don't know what to expect from you anymore..." Kenny shook his head, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. He looked around them. "So, where now?"

"There should be tracks somewhere..." Kyle said, standing up. He searched around the bases of the trees, and finally noticed more holes in the snow heading away from them. "There! He's going east."

"B...Back to the mountains?" Kenny asked, "Not back to the mountains?"

"Kenny, we practically _are_ in the mountains..." Kyle shook his head, taking the lead again.

"I know, but, I mean the _higher_ mountains..." Kenny said, looking towards the east at the rising masses of stone in the distance.

"I don't think he'll get that far too soon," Kyle replied cheerfully, "Though he might get to the lower hills if he pushes hard enough..."

"Great..." Kenny muttered.

They traveled on in silence, only stopping for Kyle to examine the prints in the snow. They were large, bigger than his outstretched hand.

"He's an old one..." Kyle nodded thoughtfully.

"So that means he's better at killing than the rest of them..." Kenny eyed the prints nervously.

"You have nothing to worry about, we're not going to get close enough for him to pounce you..." Kyle chuckled, heading on.

"Sure, and just how do you know how close that has to be? What if he rushes us?" Kenny slogged through the snow mournfully. "I probably won't even get to see him that good before its over..."

Their pursuit lasted the rest of the day, and by early evening they were reaching the edge of the thicker forest that populated the foothills of the mountain.

"Do you want to keep going, or should we set up camp here?" Kenny asked, hoping for the latter.

Kyle took a while to respond, gazing thoughtfully at the forest in front of them. The trees weren't that close together, but they'd still be at a disadvantage. It probably wouldn't be a smart idea to get caugh at night in the middle of the forest.

"All right, let's set up camp." Kyle said finally, grinning as he heard Kenny laugh happily.

"Yes!" Kenny dropped his pack on the ground, wincing as it crunched through the top layer of frosted snow and got stuck halfway in. "Aw man..."

Kyle watched him wrestle with the pack for a minute, then gently set his own pack down and crouched to pull out a small journal from one of its outer pockets. Unclipping the pen on its cover, he flipped it open to the first empty page and began writing down the days experiences. They'd managed to have good weather the past few days, and he was sure they were nearing their quarry. If they could only catch up to it soon... their rations could only last so long.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by a large string of curses from his companion's direction. Kenny had begun setting up their tent, but apparently the poles were not agreeing with him. Scratching at a week's growth of beard, the blond man stood glaring down at the metal rods, curses exiting his mouth with each breath.

"Problems?" Kyle asked. Kenny muttered something incomprehensible in reply and went to setting up the tent again. Kyle watched him a moment longer, once again filled with gratitude towards the other man. Not everyone was willing to go out on a trek as long and possibly dangerous as this. Still, they had been lucky; after a small snowstorm a few days earlier there had been no major problems. Kyle was optimistic that they would reach their goal, and soon.

He returned to writing in his journal, Kenny's colorful cursing becoming a backdrop to his thoughts. He was hoping he hadn't been wrong about the tracks. Years of tracking in this country had given him the experience he needed, however, this was the first time he was tracking something so large and dangerous, and without a guide as well. He lifted his eyes, musing about his experiences, the places he'd been, the things he'd seen. His eyes focused on something moving at the edge of the forest, but his mind didn't react. He was still thinking about the time he traveled to the jungles of central India. That was a trip worth remembering...

"Kenny!" He hissed, his mind suddenly catching up to his eyes. He froze, staring at the sight before him, almost imagining he could see golden eyes staring back into his.

"What?" Kenny grumbled; Kyle could hear him dropping the tent rods back on the ground.

"Shh, quick! Get over here..." Kyle whispered hurriedly.

"What, what are you- Oh, shi..." Kenny cut his curse off, moving swiftly to stand next to where Kyle still crouched in the snow.

"Quick, Kenny..." Kyle urged the blond, not letting his eyes drift from the view in front of him.

"I'm hurrying," Kenny muttered, pulling the strap off of his shoulder.

Light glinted off black metal and plastic. It must have been enough to attract attention, for suddenly those golden eyes were focused in Kenny's direction.

Kyle held his breath, eyes tearing with the effort not to blink.

Kenny aimed, breath held as well, straining to keep his hands from shaking.

The tiger took a step forward, stopped with its head held high. Its body stretched behind it, huge, massive. Its tail it held lifted out of the snow, curling slightly at the tip. Its coat glistened in the evening sun, pale orange streaked sparsely with dark brown and black stripes.

"Kenny..." Kyle whimpered. The moment was passing, it was passing...

_Click._

The tiger turned, lifting its paws to bound onward through the snow.

_Click Click Click._

It kept bounding on, into the trees, the shadows drifting over its body.

_Click Click Click Click._

"Did you get it?" Kyle realized that his hand was gripping Kenny's pant leg. He let go, body shaking, and rose to his feet. Kenny was holding a hand over the camera to keep the sunlight from glinting across the preview screen. "You took the lens cap off this time, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, look! Look!" Kenny turned the camera, and Kyle nearly ripped it out of his hands. The magnificent face of the tiger stared back at him, golden eyes shining, mouth partially open to reveal the very tips of white fangs glinting from above black-lined lips. The next picture caught it in mid leap, front legs raised, huge paws splayed. In the next it was leaping forward, then bounding on, onward, finally ending with a picture where it seemed to disappear into the shadows between the trees.

"That's good, right?" Kenny let out a sigh, "Good, good. Finally. But you know what? The next time you want to do something like this, take a different photographer, because I don't know if I could take any more of thi-"

Kyle cut him off with a kiss so hard and so heated that it was a miracle the snows didn't melt around them.

"Oh," Kenny said after they finally parted, "Oh, well, yeah, I mean... if that's how you're going to be rewarding the photographer afterwards..."

"Thank you Kenny," Kyle smiled at him, handing the camera back to the blonde before wrapping his arms around his waist.

"You're welcome..." Kenny said, resting his head against Kyles. "Kyle?"

"Yeah?" Kyle asked. Finally, all their hard work paid off.

"Can we get out of Siberia now?" Kenny sounded desperate.

"All right," Kyle laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek before moving over to the unfortunate tent poles. "At least be glad I didn't drag you here in the winter..."

Kenny shuddered visibly.

"Don't tell me about it, I don't want to know..." Kenny hurried over to help with the tent. "At least its over..."

"Oh, by the way, I'm slotted to do an article on the hammerheads off the coast of Africa next month..." Kyle began. Kenny groaned, proabably about the 'shark' part of the sentence. "I could always find a different photographer if you're not willing..."

"Hnf, I'd like to see you try..."


	3. Furniture

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This one is really, REALLY short.

I, um, couldn't really… yeah… I mean, _furniture._ Get me?  
Oh, and I had a friend who had those kind of shelves in her room. THEY ROCKED.

...uh, yeah... read it and relax from the craziness of theme 1 and the interestingness of theme 2, and prepare yourselves for the utter insanity that is theme 4. :D

THANK YOU:

**Zakuyoe**

**Milkshakehobo**

**Ttchaku**

By now I can remember how to spell all the reviewers names by heart… XD Isn't that awesome?  
LOVE YOU GUYS!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100  
Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13  
Category: South Park  
Genre: General/Romance  
Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 3: Furniture**

Kyle stands staring quizzically down at the... object... standing under the window. He grimaces slightly, looking over at Kenny when the blond enters, carrying two two-by-fours.

"What is this?" He asks, not pointing, He doesn't think there is a need.

"What is what?" Kenny asks, putting the two-by-fours down next to... it.

"That. What is that." Kyle says. It's no longer a question.

"That, Kyle, is a shelf." Kenny responds. Kyle gives him an odd look.

"That isn't a shelf Kenny." He explains. "That's three cinder blocks and a two-by-four."

"Its a shelf." Kenny huffs, getting down on the floor and grabbing another cinder block.

"Its junk." Kyle responds.

"Its my junk," Kenny answers, "And I reserve the right to call it a shelf."

Kyle watches as Kenny arranges the next three cinder blocks on top of the existing construction, and then places the next two-by-four on top of those. The blond turns a bright smile to him.

"See? Double shelf." He says, obviously proud.

"Double junk, maybe..." Kyle snorts, crossing his arms.

"You're being pissy again." Kenny frowns, getting up.

"Me?" Kyle laughs. "Wait till Cartman sees this standing in the middle of the living room."

"Its not in the middle, its off to the side..." Kenny says, "And its not _that_ much of an eyesore."

"Sure." Kyle rolls his eyes, obviously not convinced.

"Look, you decorate your one-quarter of the apartment how you want," Kenny says, pointing at the redhead. "And leave me to decorate my one-quarter by myself."

"With cinder block shelving?" Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." Kenny replies.

"I don't think that's going to work on the walls..." Kyle muses, making a show of inspecting the wall.

"Ha, ha. Cinder blocks don't go on walls, dummy," Kenny grumbles, hefting up the remaining two-by-four.

"I'm the dummy?" Kyle asks, "I'm not the one doing my shopping at the local junkyard."

"Hmm... I seem to have brought in one two-by-four too many..." Kenny pretends not to hear him. "What to do... Keep it for another project? Or break it across Kyle's head?... decisions decisions..."

Kyle gives him a horrified look, and the blond smiles at him brightly before heading out with the wood plank.


	4. Retained

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This one is one of the weird type of ones I like to write. YEAH YEAH. Its super long, it makes up for Furniture being so short. XD

…no, I mean it, its really, really weird.  
It's ALMOST but NOT QUITE Memento type weird… D: Watched the movie? Then you'll have an idea… or something…

…yep, still weird…

I'M STILL THANKING YOU GUYS CUZ YOU ROCK:

**Zakuyoe**

**Milkshakehobo**

**Ttchaku**

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing, SUPER WEIRDNESS

* * *

**Theme 4: Retained**

(retain: to keep in mind; remember)

The cup of coffee stood on the cafe table. Next to it lay a brown paper napkin imprinted with the recycle logo. A few spots of coffee stained the napkin where it had been used to mop up a small spill. A hand picked the cup up to the mouth of the blond who'd bought it near half an hour ago. He took a sip, frowning when he found that the liquid had cooled too much to taste good. The man stood and headed for the door, the cup ending, still half-full, in the garbage can right next to it.

Outside the world was shades of gray. An overcast sky meant that the only light to reach the ground was filtered, half-gone. A memory tugged in the back of the man's mind; ten years ago on a day like this...

_...on a day just as overcast and cloudy, he'd been accompanying his friends to the newest film out in the local movie theater. The light had just changed from red to green, and they'd bolted off across the street. On those first steps his fingers had brushed those of the boy next to him; he liked to think it had been accidental. The redhead had given him a quick, shocked look before pointedly glancing away. By the time they'd reached the other side their fingers had touched half a dozen times more; those definitely hadn't been his fault..._

The man jerked out of the memory. His eyes narrowed as he strained to focus on the lest remnants of the image. A redhead with gray eyes... a movie theater with neon lights half a block down... Harris and Main...

The image slipped from his grasp before he had good focus on it. A moment later and he stood there, wondering what it was he had been wondering about. His hand moved to his jacket pocket of its own accord, and he was surprised to find himself holding a piece of paper. After studying it carefully for a moment, he nodded and tucked it back in his pocket, heading on down the street.

It was early evening; around him people left jobs, headed home. Some left homes to head for work. He passed a family with two young children in tow, both sporting paper crowns and a handfull of balloons. A man left a flower shop as he stepped past, and for a moment the fragrance of roses, lilies and lilac invaded his senses. It was like stepping into a garden...

_...the botanic gardens, where he wandered around with the rest of his class. The field trip was boring; he must've said so because the redheaded boy next to him laughed and rolled his eyes. They were alone in that part of the gardens. Roses mingled with lilies around them; red and orange and yellow and white. They were passing between two rows of lavender that bordered the roses and lilies when he let his fingers brush those of the boy next to him. The hand wasn't pulled away, and he made the seemingly drastic move of twining his fingers with those next to them. For a long moment they walked so in silence, until the calls of their fellow classmates forced them to pull their hands back to their own sides. He liked to think that he hadn't done anything wrong, but the other boy still wouldn't look in his direction..._

The man was still staring at the door of the flower shop. He frowned at it before moving on through the growing crowd. The remnants of the memory were already escaping his mind; he couldn't remember what types of flowers they were, and... and what it was that had made him stare at the flower shop. There had to be something.

He was still trying to remember what it was when he reached the front of the building who's number was on the piece of paper in his pocket. He reached into his other pocket (an action also noted down on that same piece of paper) and pulled out a set of keys on a keychain. Each of them had their own marker.

The first said "Front-Outside". He pushed it into the slot of the lock, twisted, and pushed the door open. After entering he pushed the door closed with a loud clunk. Looking at it for a moment he turned the little handle on the inside and locked the door.

The second key on the keychain said "Front-Inside". He held it for a moment, then noticed a line of metal mailboxes. An apartment house, then. He turned to the second door and inserted the key into the door's lock. A twist, and he pushed it open and entered the main building. This door closed behind him, locked as it did so.

He turned to the third key on the keychain. "Apt. 3F". Looking at the first door, he saw that it was 1A. Deciding that the numbers stood for the floor number, he headed towards the stairs. Slowly he moved up through the building, checking the doorways he passed to be sure of his destination. On the third floor he moved past the A, B, C, D, and E doors, stopping at the one that matched the notation on his key.

The key fit the lock, and when he twisted it he could hear the lock open. That was good, he hadn't made any mistatkes along the way. Pushing open the door he closed it behind, locking it before he turned forward. A plaque hung next to the door, the word "Keys" painted on in flowing calligraphy above four small hooks. A set of keys already hung on one of the hooks, and the man looked at them curiously as he hung his own set on the neighboring hook.

A coat hanger stood in the corner of where the wall the door was on met another, and he took his jacket off and hung it up. His shoes, he saw, were supposed to go on a mat next to the coat hanger. There they went, and after that he made his way further into the apartment. There were some noises coming from the room adjacent to the living/dining room, which is where he ended up. Curious, he entered through the doorway to see that it was a kitchen. A redheaded, curly-haired man was pulling an aluminum foil covered pan out of the oven. The blond waited while the other man placed the pan on top of the stove, peeling back the aluminum foil and inspecting the contents closely before nodding and pulling off the oven mitts on his hands. The man turned around finally, and noticed the blonde standing by the entrance to the room. A small, uncertain smile crossed his face.

"I'm... Kenny," The blond said, watching the man curiously.

"I... yeah...," The redheaded man said. "Hi Kenny..."

He seemed about to say more, but his voice faded out.

"I know you...?" Kenny's words turned into a question towards the end. The man nodded.

"I'm Kyle," The man said. "We're roommates."

"Oh." Kenny said. A stiff moment passed. "I don't remember."

"I know." A pained expression crossed the man's – Kyle's – face, but it was replaced quickly with a smile. "Dinners ready. Are you hungry?"

Kenny walked over to look into the pan on the stove. There were two chicken breasts, steamed with vegetables. The smell was tantalizing.

"It smells good." Kenny said, then looked over at Kyle. "Should I set the table?"

"Sure," Kyle grinned. "The plates are in the cabinet over the microwave, the forks and knives are in the shelf under it."

"Okay," Kenny moved towards the indicated cabinet. In a few minutes he'd set up the table with two plates, two knives and two forks. By that time Kyle had transferred a pot full of whole, young potatoes onto a serving dish. He motioned for Kenny to sit, and then served the chicken onto the plates, dividing the vegetables among them evenly. Kenny looked down at his plate, noticing that Kyle had given him more carrots than anything else. After taking a bite of one, he realized that they tasted better than anything else as well.

The meal was mostly silent. Every now and then Kenny would look at Kyle, about to say something, but realize that he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Each time the other man would wait expectantly, more often than not fork held in midair, as if he was afraid that any movement he made might interrupt Kenny's train of thought. It didn't matter much, either way whatever it was that wanted to come out of the blond man's mouth got lost somewhere along its path from his brain to his lips.

The meal was familiar, however. Kenny found it strange, since almost nothing was familiar anymore. The steamed chicken and vegetables struck a chord somewhere in his mind, the taste was something could remember liking, although he honestly thought this was the first time he tasted it...

_...and it was the first time he tasted it, even if the redhead sitting across from him didn't believe it. A poor boy didn't get much chance to try anything as complicated as this dish. He commented that it was probably the best dinner he ever had, to which the redhead blushed deeply, attempting to hide it behind a can of suger-free soda he suddenly decided to take a sip of. That moment, along with the facts that it was the redheaded boy doing the inviting, and that said boy's family was nowhere to be seen, made the blonde decide this was more than just a pity party. He wondered, briefly, whether the other boy had made the dinner himself..._

"I remembered something..." Kenny said suddenly, before he'd even realized it. Kyle looked up from his plate, eyes almost painfully focused on the blond. Kenny opened his mouth to speak, but his mind drew a blank. There had been something there...

"...I... I did, I just... it..." He tried to pull something back, anything, if he could only grasp it again.

"It's allright, Kenny," Kyle said softly. "It's all right..."

"Shouldn't... Shouldn't I be more... surprised by things?" Kenny looked at the man across from him. His blue eyes met worried gray ones, but Kyle smiled.

"You said, once, that maybe a part of your brain actually does remember things, but its just... sleepwalking," Kyle explained. Kenny wondered about it; maybe that was why the memories that surfaced disappeared so quick. Maybe that's why he wasn't as shocked by the appearance of what would be an unknown man in an apartment that was apparently his home.

"Harrison... and, and Main," Kenny said suddenly. He was a little puzzled, where had that come from? "And... botanic gardens..."

Kyle was staring at him, eyes wide in surprise. Kenny frowned, then shook his head.

"Sorry, that... just came out of nowhere..." He turned back to his chicken, prodding it with his fork.

"I... I'll get us something to drink..." Kyle stood up suddenly. His voice sounded strained, but he grinned at Kenny as he returned with the glasses. "I totally forgot about that..."

The rest of dinner passed more or less quietly. After the dishes were done Kenny wandered out into the other hallway of the apartment. There were two bedrooms, it seemed, and a bathrom at the end. He stopped at the door with the sign on it that said "Kenny" and entered what he guessed was his room.

It was clean, and neat. There was a bed on one said, with a nightstand next to it. A lamp and an alarm clock were all that were on the nightstand. Across from the bed stood a dresser, and next to that was the door to the closet. Across from the doorway a window opened up onto a view into the garden at the back of the building. Under the window stood a desk, with a desk lamp, a holder full of pens and pencils, a day-by-day calendar, and a single black book on the top.

Walking over, Kenny picked up the black book and began flipping through the pages. The front page had his full name, Kenneth McCormick, written along lines indicated for that purpose, along with the address of the building he was currently living in. Below that were lines for an emergency contact, the name Kyle Broflovski on the line that followed, along with the same address, and two phone numbers.

A few pages further he came upon a list. It was titled "Retained", and underneath that were dates, each followed by a few words. The first date was almost -he checked the calendar on his desk- three years past. Flipping forward he came to the end of the list. Pulling a pen out of the holder, he wrote in that days date, then turned around and walked out of the room.

The TV was on in the main room, and he found Kyle seated on the sofa across from it. The redheaded man put the TV on mute as soon as he saw him, looking up with a grin. Kenny sat down on the couch next to him.

"What did I remember?" He asked. Kyle stayed silent for a moment, giving him a long, steady look.

"Harris and Main, you said," He answered finally, "They're probably streets... And botanic gardens."

Kenny noted the two things down on the list. He looked down at it for a long moment; he couldn't remember remembering those things at all.

"Do you think I'll ever remember?" He asked, still looking down at the list.

"Someday... probably..." Kyle answered softly. Kenny looked at him, seeing the tiredness in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what you say, does it?" He said, "I'm not going to remember it tomorrow anyway..."

"I... I guess..." Kyle answered. His voice wavered slightly as he said it.

Kenny nodded, closing the book. He leaned against the back of the couch, looking over at the TV.

"What's on?" He asked.

"Oh... uh, a documentary about sharks..." Kyle said, turning the sound back on.

"Looks interesting..." Kenny said. He'd really have to try to make an effort to remember something...

_Harrison and Main... Botanic Gardens..._

...what had he been thinking about?


	5. Digression

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

I'm over here, stuck on _Digression_, and Zakuyoe's out there whipping out shorts like nobody's business! XD HINT: Go over and check it out, its called **The Moments that Don't Shine** and it totally rocks.

…digression… I've been writing this since yesterday… No kidding, I'm sitting there, talking aloud to myself, making my mom give me weird looks… It was grand. I finally tried something, but… but hey… uh… it sucks. Whatever. ONWARDS FRIENDS!

Thank you I love you you are all awesome as hell:

**Zakuyoe**

**Ttchaku**

**Mochitsuki**

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 5: Digression**

(digress: lose clarity_; archaic:_ to turn aside)

It started with small things at first. Kyle, busy working on new projects in the office, forgot to phone Kenny over lunch for small talk. A few days later, Kenny, returning home exhausted after a day full of whiny teenagers, decided to eat dinner and go to bed early, leaving Kyle to return later to a dark, silent house.

The moments of separation were almost unnoticeable, and spaced far apart. Kyle leaving earlier to get to work, taking away from the time they'd usually spend chatting over morning coffee in the kitchen; Kenny taking on the baseball coaching position after school in addition to his regular teaching job, coming home tired and unwilling to do much more than take a shower and drop into bed. Dinners together, becoming sparser, were spent with their thoughts elsewhere, on when the company manager expected the next project to be done, on what strategy to use against the number one pitcher in the high school league.

Projects and games and (in both cases) team positions were slowly taking precedence over spontaneous coffee excursions to local diners at 9 at night and walks in the rain that, at one time, used to be enough to occupy them for an entire Saturday afternoon. The warmest embraces after a long day dwindled to a speedy kiss while passing in the hallway; the passion that used to heat their nights faded to a flickering flame that sparked up randomly, and only in short bursts.

In truth, neither of them really noticed the change, neither of them noticed the ways their actions slowly caused them to turn from each other. Days, weeks, a month or more? It was doubtful if either of them knew the time had passed, and that with each day they traveled farther down their separate, if still close, paths. Only one person noticed the change.

"So, Kyle, how's Kenny doing?" Stan asked once when Kyle and he were having their once a week talk.

"Oh, he's doing all right… Busy with the school and the kids, you know…" Kyle answered vaguely.

"Yeah? What's he doing these days?" Stan pried further.

"Uh, I think he's busy with the baseball team, he said something about trying to reach the finals this year…" Kyle answered. It didn't really cross his mind just how lacking his response was.

"You think? You're not sure?" Stan asked; saying he was a little uneasy about the situation was an understatement.

"Well, you know, we're both busy lately…" Kyle said, still not seeing what Stan was getting at.

"Yeah… yeah, I get it." Stan sighed, "Tell Ken I said Hi, all right?"

"Okay."

That phone conversation still wasn't enough for the gears to start turning the right way. Kyle still stayed late at the office, Kenny still spent all his free time coaching kids on how to throw curves and sliders.

Days, weeks? It was some time before the day came, the day when Kyle, pausing in his perusal of the latest documents they had received, suddenly was hit with the thought of calling Kenny. He frowned, his eyes drifting over to the phone that sat on his desk. Where it had come from, he couldn't say, but after a few tries he realized he couldn't push the thought away.

His partner on the latest project interrupted him as he was picking up the phone receiver, and by the time the man left all thoughts of calling Kenny had left his mind.

A few days later Kenny, having headed for the shower directly after coming home, stepped into the kitchen with nothing more in mind than a simple dinner of canned chili. After transferring the chili into a pot and setting it to heat on the stove, he'd wandered around aimlessly for a while, traveling through the rooms of the house. It was dark in most of them, and, he realized, very empty in all of them. Returning to the kitchen he found the chili ready. Instead of serving himself he decided to transfer the pot into the oven to keep warm, and sat at the table. His eyes sought out the kitchen clock; Kyle could be back in half an hour, or he could be back in two.

Regretfully, Kyle returned that night to find Kenny fast asleep at the table, his head pillowed on his arms.

Something had set itself in motion, however. Two days later Kyle found himself pulling his cell phone out of his pocket during his lunch run. Tapping the number 2 speed-dial, he waited as the phone rang.

"Hello?" Kenny's voice answered on the other end.

"Hey Kenny," Kyle said, then paused. "Uh, how's it going?"

"Pretty…pretty good, I guess," Kenny answered. He sounded a little surprised.

"That's good," Kyle said, "That's… Oh! Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you that… that I'm cutting out of work early today."

He wasn't, really. Where had that spontaneity come from?

"Really?" Kenny sounded even more surprised than before. "That's cool, I had to cancel practice today, so I'll be back earlier too."

"That's great," Kyle smiled.

"We… we should go, I dunno, do something…" Kenny said thoughtfully.

"Like… oh, this new place opened on Spencer and Jefferson," Kyle offered, "it's a grill-and-pub place. A few guys at work said it has good food."

"All right, sounds good to me," Kenny answered. His voice sounded happy, and Kyle grinned.

"All right… well, I'll see you at home then." Kyle said.

"All right, later," Kenny replied.

Kyle found himself smiling as he put the cell phone back in his pocket. For some reason, he felt ten times better than he had in the past weeks.

Stan got the usual weekly Kyle-call during lunch time on Friday. He answered the phone almost warily; though he didn't show it too much, he really was worried about the state of things between his friends, was fearful to find that whatever had been happening had progressed in worse ways over the week.

"So, how're things going?" Stan asked, with a slight wince on his end, just in case.

"The usual, you know, work's been hectic all week, projects coming in from all over the place…" Kyle answered.

"Yeah?… How's Kenny?" Stan hoped that pause wasn't as apparent as he felt it was.

"He's good, those kids on the team are giving him hell. Looks like they think they can make it to the finals only if they practice morning to night every day," Kyle laughed. "But he's still living."

"Ha, that's good…" Stan thought that things sounded better, but the situation still bothered him. He wavered slightly before continuing, "You know, Kyle, for a while there I… kind of got scared for you two…"

"What?" Kyle asked, puzzled. "Why?"

"You, well, you know, you were talking like you really didn't know what was going on with Kenny, and… and sometimes I called him up and he sounded like he had no clue what you were doing…" Stan sighed deeply.

"Well…" Kyle started, realizing suddenly that Stan was very, very right. For a while there he and Kenny really were distanced from each other, but neither of them had noticed. "But that was just a minor digression, Stan. Thing's are better now."

"You sure?" Stan asked, still slightly disbelieving.

"Yes, I'm sure." Kyle reassured.

"Back on track, then?" Stan asked, just to make sure.

"Yes, we're back on track." Kyle laughed.

"Good," Stan sighed again, this time in relief. "Kyle?"

"Yeah?" Kyle grinned.

"Don't scare me like that again." Stan said in the most commanding tone he could manage.

"Good," Stan said, finally convinced. "I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"All right, bye."


	6. Numerical

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Haha, this one's weeeird….  
HEY HEY Try to figure out who's who…. :D Eventually you can tell, but… yeah…  
Something to relax to…

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100 

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 6: Numerical**

0: Zero was that picture from kindergarten. They hadn't even known each other's names, but there they were, proudly grinning above finger painted pictures of stick people and wobbly houses.

1: One was that unsigned letter received by one from the other in 7th grade, the one asking whether it was really that wrong to look at guys the way other guys looked at girls.

2: Two was that picture from the Halloween party in 8th grade. They looked both scared and relieved, having been finally let out of a closet after a prank-gone-bad, during which one had confessed to the other that he'd never really gotten over that fear of the dark thing they'd had when they were kids.

3: Three was the gum wrapper that had witnessed their first kiss behind the bleachers during freshman year of high school. It hadn't been a real kiss, just a practice one so that the lesser experienced of the two wouldn't embarrass himself too much on the date he was going on later that day.

4: Four was that shard of rock that wedged itself in one's elbow while he pulled the other out from a suddenly appearing sinkhole in the middle of the street. It had to be surgically removed; he still had the scar to remind him of it.

5: Five was a string of orange and black beads that had tied them together during a Halloween party in sophomore year. They were witness to their second kiss, which they still didn't regard as _real_ for the single fact that the punch had been severely spiked with high proof spirits.

6: Six was the second unsigned letter given by one to the other right before spring break in the same year with the promise to open it at home. It contained what could be taken as the spilling onto paper of the deepest and most intimate parts of a heart, along with the words "I think I want to be with you forever."

7: Seven was the binder that was used the rest of the year to intercept any and all looks from the sender to the receiver. It was dark green, ended up battered and taped up by the end of the school year, and was probably the only thing aware of the fact that it was also blocking looks headed back.

8: Eight was that cigarette that had burned dangerously close to the lips of one as he watched the other in secret from the group of trees across the street. It was the only witness to the whimpers of frustration that escaped those lips as the other opened a door to greet a person who definitely wasn't worth him.

9: Nine was the camera that caught the moment at a late night movie watch when everything changed. It birthed the picture that gave the proof of the kiss that was third, and both real and unreal. It was given the honor of capturing the moments that would later make up their history.

10: Ten was the blanket they had huddled under when the one had confessed to his parents. It was witness to tears and comfort and a promise.

∞: Infinity is time, of which they have so much and so little of. It alone knows truly of their trials and triumphs, of their worries and their hopes and their dreams, and alone it stands witness to the endurance of love.


	7. Furthest

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

I like this one. I was really stuck on this; I knew what I wanted to express, but not how to express it.

Also, I was really pissed today. But that's not important.

Thanks for the reviews Zak :D

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100  
Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13  
Category: South Park  
Genre: General/Romance  
Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 7: Furthest**

It wasn't in the morning, when breakfast was being made in the kitchen. The eggs in the frying pan might've been sizzling, but it was hard to tell from what: the fire under the pan or the glare from the redhead above them. A plastic spatula was held in his right hand, occasionally descending to push the eggs around in the sputtering grease.

At the kitchen table the blond sat, flipping through the Saturday morning newspaper and doing an insanely good job ignoring the heated atmosphere of the small room. The crinkle of newspaper pages turning joined the sputter and spit of sizzling grease. The table was set: two placemats, two plates, two pieces of toasted bread on each, two forks and two knives. A glass of orange juice at one, a cup of strong, black coffee at the other.

The blonde at the table leaned away a little as the redhead carried the pan over and deposited one half of the eggs onto his plate. They landed a little awkwardly, slightly hanging off at one edge. The redhead ignored them and went to serve himself. The blond, finally looking away from the classifieds, reached out a hand, pushed the eggs all the way onto his plate with a finger, licked it, and returned to scanning the page he was on. The redhead deposited the pan into the sink with what might have been a little-too-loud of a clatter, then returned to his seat and ate his breakfast.

The morning was silence before the storm, but it wasn't then.

It wasn't right before lunch, when the blonde took a cigarette break on the small balcony outside the living/dining room with the sliding door half-open. It wasn't a windy day, and the cigarette smoke hung around the small area almost as if it were reluctant to let go. The redhead, passing by with a load of laundry that needed folding, stopped with an irritated grunt to slide the door closed.

A moment after he disappeared from the room the blond, still looking out at the view, reached back with one foot, hooked the edge of the door, and slid it open again. The redhead, returning a moment later to retrieve a fallen article of clothing, stopped abruptly at the sight of the open door, and the smell of the smoke coming in through it. Something on his face twitched, and when he sighed it was the slow hiss of steam being let out of a coal train's engine. The door slid closed again, and, with formerly-lost article of clothing in hand, the redhead whipped around and headed back to the room.

A little while later, clothes folded and put away, the redhead returned to the living room to watch the news only to find the sliding door, once again, half open. His stiff legged approach did not go unnoticed; the blonde on the balcony, cigarette nearly finished, turned an impassive gaze in in his direction.

The sliding door slammed closed so hard the curtain rod above it nearly jumped out of its hooks.

A moment later the blonde crushed his cigarette on the railing, tossing it down to the street below, and, sliding the door open, entered back into the apartment. Closing it carefully behind him, he passed the seething redhead on the couch and entered the kitchen to make a sandwich.

Lunch time was thunder across a canyon, but it wasn't then.

It wasn't at dinner time, with the microwave beeping its last seconds. Out of it came the prepackaged, previously-frozen-but-now-baked chicken pot pie that would be dinner for the blonde. He took it out carefully, sliding it out of its box and onto a cutting board to cool. The fridge opened, and he poured himself a glass of iced tea he'd made during lunch, setting it next to the single plate on the table. A radio was playing the newest rock songs from the living room, and the blonde bobbed his head along to the beats as he carried the cooled pie to his plate. He picked up his fork and ate slowly.

The redhead had gone out that night.

Dinner was an echoing ravine, but it wasn't then.

Night, with both in bed, covered in a thin sheet, one with a fluffy pillow, one with a firm one. If attempted, the points of separation could be counted: First, at the heads, which usually were propped against one another. Second, at the shoulders, which generally touched when they slept side by side. Third, at the spines, which mostly met when they lay pushed against each other back-to-back. Fourth, at the hips, a position that usually led to more interesting positions. Fifth, at the knees, where their legs usually tangled after everything was said and done. Sixth, at the ankles, that crossed whenever they pulled close under the covers.

An inch-wide divide; a chasm of separation.

It was when they were nearly at their closest that they were furthest apart.


	8. Facture

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This was a seriously cool word. It sounds awesome… _fak-chur_… mmmm…

Trying to do something with it that wasn't _entirely_ generic? And cliché? … uh.. Difficult? Maybe?

XD I hope I succeeded somewhat…

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100  
Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13  
Category: South Park  
Genre: General/Romance  
Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 8: Facture**

_(n. The manner in which something, especially a work of art, is made)_

It begins with a foundation, a backdrop; in this case, the light green of friendship, trust. A spot of yellow for the yearning to know more about the other.

Building upon that foundation, the colors of experiences, multicolored blobs of both anger and happiness. A dash of sorrow here and there, a spatter of fear, a smattering of awe and surprise in the most unexpected places.

A white line of understanding to connect the experiences, a golden wash of hope to lighten the shadow of anger and sorrow.

Over that the glitter of new found dreams, the smear of orange of hidden desire. A circle of pink to remember the first blush of youth. A sunburst of red to express the first taste of love.

Above all that sky blue strings for the heights that could be reached, a cover of see through silver for the dreams that might never be.

A wrapping of dark blue for protection, a box of purple for devotion.

It is a series of random strokes, marks, mistakes and fixes; a collection of the mismatched, the odd, all of it ending in a design infinitely complicated and meticulous; ever changing and ever growing.


	9. Ascension

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Um. Written on the first day I was out on vacation… :D I don't know if any of the information is correct, I had no encyclopedia access... XD

I didn't get to write as often as I thought I would, so I'm going to space out updates… still uploading two at a time, tho…

Anyways!:**Zak**, thank you. I really appreciated it:D I'm gonna go back and review all your chapters that I haven't yet (because I made a promise to myself that I would… :3) So expect them to start coming in soon… Once I sleep off this travel weariness…

Thanks also to **lightskaylaction** who actually listened to Zak, I really appreciated you stopping by and reviewing, and I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of this project. :D

Remember everybody! Reviews equal Love!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100 

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 9: Ascension**

_( n (astronomy) the rising of a star above the horizon) _

The wind was blowing from the southeast that night. It quivered the tops of the grass, newly freed from winter's snow, and brushed past the two boys as they climbed up to the top of the hill.

"Are you sure its going to be tonight?" The blonde asked sleepily, yawning wide halfway through his sentence.

"Yeah, its tonight." His companion, a redhead, responded. Having reached the top of the hill, he took a good look around. The sky was clear in all directions, and even with the wind blowing it wasn't cold enough to freeze them. "All right."

He sat down on the grass, and after a moment the blonde joined him.

"Whatta we do now?" He asked, looking at the redhead expectantly.

"Well, Kenny, considering this is going to be a meteor shower, I suppose we're going to have to look up at the sky at some point…" The redhead responded wryly. The blonde made a face before falling back onto the grass and staring up at the sky.

"Kyle," Kenny said after a moment.

"Yeah?" The redhead responded, still looking up at the sky. Stars were still appearing in the night sky as the sun moved further along its path on the other side of the world.

"Wake me up when the show starts…" Kenny mumbled.

"Oh no, don't you even try falling asleep," Kyle looked at him sharply. Getting no response, he reached out and shoved the other boy.

"Aww, Kyle…" Kenny whined, "Its almost midnight…"

"Dude, you've stayed up later than this watching your porn vids…" Kyle growled, shoving the blonde in the shoulder again as he tried to curl up on the ground.

"Yeah, but they're interesting…" Kenny groaned, turning back onto his back and glaring at the redhead balefully.

"Well, if this isn't interesting than why are you here?" Kyle huffed, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them.

"Because I was bored…?" Kenny offered, then sighed. "All right, whatever, I'll stay awake… just talk to me or something, otherwise I'm gonna fall asleep…"

"Whaddya want me to talk about?" Kyle muttered, his words muffled by the fabric of his jeans.

"Anything…" Kenny answered, folding his arms back. "Them."

"Them?" Kyle gave the blonde a quizzical look.

"The stars." Kenny looked back at him. "That's what we're here for, sorta… right?"

"Yeah… sorta…" Kyle grinned, looking up at the dark night sky. "Well, when a star rises over the horizon, its called the ascension of the star."

"Ascension…" Kenny's mumbled, "Like Jesus?"

"Sure…" Kyle frowned, "Only for stars."

"Ah." Kenny didn't sound as thoughtful as he was trying to sound.

"Its an astronomical term," Kyle said, glancing over to see if Kenny was falling asleep again. The blonde's eyes were half-closed, but he seemed alert.

"And…" Kenny prompted, looking over at Kyle.

"And… the stars form constellations…" Kyle began to continue.

"Like the Zodiac…" Kenny interrupted. Kyle grinned to himself, looking up at the sky.

"Yeah, but there's more than that…. There's the Dragon and Cassiopeia, the Swan and Orion… there's a whole multitude of constellations up there…" Kyle explained. "Some of them can only be seen in one hemisphere, and not in the other."

"Hemisphere…?" Kenny questioned, and Kyle gave him a skeptical look.

"Come on, Kenny, that's grade school geography." Kyle said sharply.

"Kyle, I can't remember what we did in class today, and you want me to remember something from four years back?" Kenny asked, sounded just as sleepy as he had at the beginning of the conversation.

Kyle stared at him in disbelief for a long while.

"Keep talking, or I swear I'm going to fall asleep," Kenny reminded him groggily.

"Hemisphere, as in one half of the earth divided by the equator. There is the northern hemisphere, where we are, and the southern hemisphere opposite us," Kyle explained sharply.

"Now, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Kenny grinned, lopsided because it was true that he was nearly falling asleep. Kyle snorted, then continued on with the first thing he could remember.

"There are different kinds of stars, depending on their makeup and how much hydrogen they have left to burn and some other reasons I can't remember right now…" Kyle stifled a yawn, but caught Kenny sending a smirk his way. He growled, then continued, "There're red giants and white dwarfs… and blue, somethings…"

"Our sun's yellow…" Kenny spoke up, sounding less sleepy than he had before.

"Yeah, the yellow ones are… they're more likely to be able to burn steady for a long time… And the planets around them are more likely to be warmed enough to be able to support life… Red giants are too big, and too hot, and they have short lives. White dwarfs aren't hot enough, and I don't think they have planets very often…" Kyle stretched his arms out in front of him.

"Lives…? Stars die?" Kenny asked, and Kyle turned to see that Kenny was looking at him.

"Yeah, they usually either burn out, or collapse and become black holes…" The redhead replied. Kenny frowned.

"That sucks…" He said, then laughed. "Literally, too…"

"Ha ha." Kyle half-grinned, "Funny."

"I know, I'm grand…" Kenny chuckled, looking back up at the sky.

They stayed like that in silence for a while, both with their eyes up towards the stars.

"They moved…" Kenny said softly.

"No, we did," Kyle grinned lightly.

"Huh…" Kenny sounded like he was about to fall asleep again. Kyle looked over at him, watching as the blonde's eyes drifted closer to closing. Every few seconds he'd try to snap them open, only to have his lids fall again. After a long moment, Kyle realized he was staring and turned away, looking back up at the sky.

"Kenny…" Kyle said suddenly, "Kenny, wake up…"

"Wha…" Kenny mumbled, shifting on the grass.

"You're missing it… wake up," Kyle reached out to touch a hand to the blonde's shoulder.

"Missing what…?" Kenny's eyes fluttered open, but it took a while before he could focus. "Oh, oh hey, look at that…"

Above them the sky was alive with shooting jets of light. Every now and then a larger streak appeared, flying through the night sky for a few long seconds before disappearing. Every second a few appeared at random points in the sky, all pointed at the same direction, all blazing bright for a moment before fading away.

"Meteors…" Kenny mumbled thoughtfully, "There're just chunks of rocks, right…?"

"Yeah, basically… they speed through space, and when they hit a planet they come raining down through the atmosphere…" Kyle said, eyes to the spectacle above them.

"Huh…" Kenny stayed silent for a moment. "They're not falling stars…"

"No, stars don't fall, "Kyle said.

"They die." The blonde said, a strange tone in his voice.

"Yeah…" Kyle glanced over at the other boy, watching him for a moment. "Some people think that they're falling dreams.."

"Some people…?" Kenny shifted on the grass again, looked over at the redhead with a grin. "You?"

"Hn…" Kyle wrapped his arms around his legs, "Maybe…"

"Heh… but falling dreams, isn't that kinda… sad…?" Kenny said, but Kyle shrugged.

""Not really…" Kyle grinned up at the sky. "See, if they're up there, they're too far away, but when they fall they're easier to reach…"

"Ah…" Kenny exhaled thoughtfully, "I see…"

Kyle looked over at him to see that his eyes were drifting closed again.

"It's… it's really cool…" Kenny mumbled sleepily.

"Kenny?" Kyle asked softly. The blonde grunted, and Kyle continued, "Wanna do one more thing?"

"…then will you let me sleep…?" Kenny mumbled, opening his eyes a crack.

"Look up there and find the brightest falling star you can…" Kyle said.

"…meteor…" Kenny mumbled. Kyle grinned, rubbing his hands against the sides of his legs.

"Falling rock, if you want it to be…" The redhead said, his voice light.

"…all right…" Kenny shifted again, trying to keep his eyes open.

"All right, so find the brightest one…" Kyle continued.

"I think I see where this is going…" Kenny said, smiling slightly.

"Do you?" Kyle grinned secretively.

"Yeah, but go on…" Kenny said, stretching out a little on the grass.

"Find it, and as soon as you do, close your eyes…" Kyle said, straightening out his legs and watching the blonde.

"…and…?" Kenny mumbled, still trying to grin even though it was apparent he was about to fall into dreamland any second.

Kyle sidled closer, then twisted and leaned over the still blonde. He looked down at him from straight above, at the straw blond hair being rustled lightly by the wind, at the pale lips still curled in a slight smile. The redhead shifted his position, supporting himself almost entirely on his arms, and lowered himself closer.

"…make a wish…"


	10. Portable

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Its short, as in, truly short. But enjoyable, I like to think. I mean, honestly? Portable? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? it's a good thing I had some high school memories to help me with this, otherwise… well, otherwise, it would've been worse…

BTW If anyone wants to see the fish I caught, I suggest heading over to zoshi-the-confused. deviantart. Com (without the spaces, of course) and checking out the recently uploaded stuff, and the journal, I'm going to have pics up soon… :D

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 10: Portable**

"I wish you were portable…" Kyle sighed softly, running his fingers through his blonde lover's hair.

"Portable?" Kenny asked, eyebrows scrunching. He shifted on the bed, arms curling closer around the redhead's body.

"Yeah, so I could take you along everywhere…" Kyle grinned, pressing a kiss between the blonde's eyes, and then on the tip of his nose.

"And you can't now…" Kenny murmured, tilting his head to catch Kyle's lips in his own. It was a long, slow moment before the conversation continued.

"Sure, but not _everywhere_," Kyle said, nuzzling his face against Kenny's neck. He pressed both lips and tongue to that one spot right above the clavicle, and the blonde's arms tightened almost spasmodically around him. "I want you small and portable."

"Small, huh?" Kenny chuckled, voice muffled in the redheads curly hair. He nibbled on Kyle's ear, grinning at the noises he made.

"Tiny." Kyle affirmed, pushing away the blonde's face and moving to look down at him, gray eyes staring into blue. "Tiny enough to fit in my pocket."

"Hm… pants pocket?" Kenny leered, one hand moving down to squeeze the redhead's ass.

"Only if you're good," Kyle frowned down at him, giving him a disapproving look.

"Oh, baby, I'm _always_ good…" Kenny replied, grabbing the shoulders above him and pulling.

"That is true…" Kyle managed right before he got pulled down onto the blonde's body.

Their lips met again, crushing against each other, and a very long moment passed this time before they parted.

"So… will you be portable for me?" Kyle asked breathlessly, grinning.

"I can try," Kenny grinned, leaning up to rub noses. "But the only thing that's going to fit in your pocket right now is my hand…"

"Hah!" Kyle laughed, brushing his lips against the blonde's, "That's good enough, I guess… as long as it's my pants pocket it's fitting in…"


	11. Struggle

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Um. If you can't tell what I was doing right before writing this, then you FAIL. XD

Also, fly fishing gets too much attention. All the fishing short stories in my English textbooks were always about fly fishing… Movies? All about fly fishing. Its annoying…

THANK YOU:  
**Zak**

**Lightskaylaction**

**Mochitsuki**

**Imjustagirl0077**

I really appreciate all the reviews! They make me happy! And a happy Zoshi is a Writing-Machine Zoshi! So leave some reviews people! Put some gas in this motor! VRRMVRRM!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 11: Struggle**

The waters of Starks Pond were choppy in the early morning wind. The sun, still low on the horizon, was hidden by fluffy clouds in the east. Kenny looked out over the water for a long while, eyes narrowed in thought, before nodding and turning back to the fallen tree half-sunk into the sandy/rocky bank. Picking up a battered silver-gray fishing rod, he ran pinched fingers over the line. Finding no snags in the line he unfastened the fish hook from the third ring and leaned over to the bucket sitting next to his feet. The water inside jumped to life as he put his hand inside. It took him a moment, but finally he caught one wriggling minnow, mouth gasping, tail flicking. With the easy movements of a seasoned fisherman, he twisted the hook and sent the edge through the minnows body, a few millimeters below its dorsal fin. The little fish jerked and danced in his hold, mouth opening and closing spasmodically, fins fluttering as if it were trying to propel itself through the air.

Dropping the fish into the water so it could keep water flowing over its gills, he played out a little line. Lifting the still wriggling fish out of the water he pulled the fishing rod back in an arc, water droplets falling off of it, glittering in the faded light. For a moment time seemed to stand in place, and he stood, rod raised and poised, even the wind seemingly stilling itself. Time jerked to life as the rod moved. With practiced ease he snapped the rod forward, line playing out in a flat, smooth arc. The minnow and bobber, separated by a length of fishing line, somersaulted through the air, colliding into the water with a loud splash. The bobber jumped to the top of the water, only to get pulled below as the minnow dashed around under water, struggling to escape. After a moment it settled down, the bobber only shifting slightly every few seconds.

Satisfied with the cast, Kenny settled the rod against a forked stick he'd stuck into the ground earlier. He sat down on the half-sunk log and looked out over the choppy water, trying to read when it was the water moving the bobber and when it wasn't, a task that sounded much simpler than it actually was. The erratic jump and shift of the waves was a good imitation of the minnow's own movement's, but after a few minutes he was able to differentiate between the two. The sun peeked out from behind clouds for a second before hiding behind them again.

The sound of feet reached him, and a moment later another person walked up next to the log.

"I overslept," Kyle smiled apologetically as he sat down next to the blonde.

"I noticed." Kenny grinned, sparing him a glance before looking back at the bobber. It was still floating along over the top of the small waves.

"Any hits?" Kyle asked softly, as if he feared his voice might break the quiet of the early morning.

"Not yet," Kenny replied just as quietly. Kyle shifted slightly, leaning his shoulder against the blonde's. They sat like that in silence for a while, the sun rising a little higher into the sky. Suddenly Kenny stiffened, eyes focusing on the bobber in the water.

"What?" Kyle looked at him, then over at the water. He couldn't see any difference in the movement of the bobber, but the blonde placed a hand on his knee, silencing him. A second later Kenny was standing, moving quickly over to the fishing rod. Kyle followed him after a moment, still looking quizzically out over the water.

The bobber wasn't moving rhythmically any more, Kenny noticed. There was a jump to its movement, a slight tilt as the minnow at the end swam to the surface in an effort to escape what pursued it. His hands found the handle of the fishing rod, lifting it slowly to keep from jarring the line too much. At this moment it didn't matter much if the line was jarred, but the tension he felt inside was dictating his actions, telling him to be careful, gentle.

The bobber dipped into the water, and his fingers tensed around the handle. His breath caught, he let it out tightly, took another breath. The bobber jumped to the top of the water again, dodging side to side. A slight jump, and then it dove into the water, down and to the left. Reflexively he pulled the rod to the right, snapping the line taut, felt the weight at the end of it. Right hand gripping the rod, his left hand gripped the handle of the spinner reel, moving of its own accord. The line pulled in tautly, shivering as the fish at the other end pulled back against it. Droplets of water flew off the line as it wound around the reel, splattering against his pants and the bank beneath his feet. Stepping back, he pulled the rod to the left as the line cut across to the right, keeping the line tight so that the hook couldn't be shaken loose, couldn't be spit out. Another moment of furious spinning, line winding in, and suddenly there was a change in the tension on the line. His mind barely registered it before a large silver shape broke the surface of the pond, water splashing to all sides as it twisted its body, powerful tail beating against the air. A second, and it was plowing back down through the surface, water spraying around it in large drops.

The tension on the line was lessened, and he struggled, muttering curses, to pull it taut again. For a horrifying, heart stopping second he felt it grow slack, felt the line wind in too easily, but then it snapped tight again, pulling against the weight at the end of it. For a long minute he fought, twisting the rod one way, then the other, leading the fish to the bank where he stood. The water at the edge frothed as its fins beat furiously, tail swiping powerfully in an effort to free itself.

"Do you need the net?" Kyle asked, ready to grab it, but Kenny shook his head.

"Nah, it's a bass…" He replied, pulling the line in as tight as he could. The fine tip of the rod bent drastically with the weight of the fish, but it was strong, and it kept the fish from pulling itself back into deeper water and making an escape.

Kenny leaned over, holding the rod at an angle, and hooked his fingers into the bass's gills. The fish was almost long enough to reach his elbow held like that, thick and meaty. Its mouth opened reflexively as it struggled to breathe, as it stifled in the air. Walking over to the log, Kenny leaned the rod against it. The next time the fish opened its mouth he stuck his thumb in, gripping its lower jaw between it and his fingers. The fishes mouth, forced open like that, stayed so, and the hook was visible not far inside.

"Shit, it could eat your hand…" Kyle muttered, standing next to him and looking down at the fish.

"Yeah, that's why its called a largemouth," Kenny explained, picking up a pair of pliers with his other hand. Reaching in with them, he unhooked the fish, then held it up with one hand in its mouth and the other under its tail. It wriggled for a moment, nearly loosing itself from his grasp.

"And?" He grinned proudly at the redhead next to him.

"Nice, dude," Kyle grinned back. He reached out a finger to touch along the bass's dorsal fin, feeling the sharp spines in the first half of it. "Its huge."

"Not really," Kenny shrugged, walking over to the edge of the water. Pulling on a rope fastened to a rock on the shore, he pulled up e net-like fish holder. Pushing down on the plastic flap at the top, he dropped the bass inside and put the net back in the water. "But its big enough."

"For what?"

"Dinner."

Kyle grinned.

"I can see why you like this, its relaxing…" He said, sitting back down on the log. He winced as Kenny fastened another minnow onto the hook, and waited until he cast out again before continuing, "Zen-like."

"It's a metaphor," Kenny sat down next to him, wiping his hands on his dark pants.

"For what?" Kyle asked, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking out over the water.

"For life," Kenny sighed, then shrugged. "For everything."

"Hm," Kyle frowned thoughtfully, and Kenny explained.

"It's like… you're constantly casting out, you know? With feelings, with actions, you're constantly putting out bait, something for someone to catch on. And sometimes you get a hit, sometimes you don't. Sometimes you're too tired and you miss one, and sometimes you're too impatient and you pull thinking there was a hit when there wasn't," Kenny leaned back a little, crossing his legs at his ankles, "But that's only half of it. The other half is how you reel it in, how you act when you get that hit. Do you reel in like crazy, pulling it in as fast as you can? Do you reel in slowly, constantly checking the tension on the line? Each time is different, each time there's a different element that makes it unpredictable. And its always a struggle, a fight to get it in, to pull it close enough so you can make something of it."

There was silence for a moment, both of them watching the bobber on the water jerk and shift.

"Everything's a struggle…" Kyle said softly.

The bobber floated on, dancing across the water, the minnow struggling for escape, for freedom, for relief.

"Yeah… but what matters is how you deal with it…" Kenny answered.


	12. Pouring

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This one is weird. I'd just finished reading The Bone Parade by Mark Nyakanen (awesome psychological horror read, not too deep, but good) and it has a sculptor who does moulds and pours them in bronze.  
When you cast something, you have to _pour_ the plaster/bronze/_whatever_ inside the mold. So, that's why this is the way it is.

Pouring. Another word that was a bitch and a half to figure out.

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 12: Pouring**

You need a mold. If you're going to pour anything, cast it in something unmovable and eternal, then you need a mold. What's your ideal? What's your vision of infinity?

Love? Trust? A friendship that's more than something you can find on the street, deeper than anything you could imagine at the time? Understanding from both sides? Put it together, and you get what? A relationship, one that's deep and unending and real.

A relationship, a beginning for that mold, and you, the first half of it. Who's the other half? Someone you've never looked twice at before, maybe? No? Then maybe that someone who sits next to you on the bus stop every morning, or the someone that you see once a week at the coffeehouse down the street? Or maybe someone you've known for near forever and never really saw as anything other than the third of your four person group (you being part of the first-and-second pair at the head of it)?

You're more inclined to the last than to any of the others. The second half of your mold is there, but you need to connect the pieces. Words, gestures, an offer here and there. A few times you're so close you feel the separation closing; a few times so far away you feel you have to fight to keep it from falling away even further. It's work, but you've done it. The negative space is less, the positive more, and finally you're ready to pour.

But with what? Bronze, plaster, both physical, both real, both for molds as physical and real as they are. A spiritual, ethereal, metaphysical mold needs a filling of the same. Feelings, emotions, kept promises and fulfilled dreams, you're pouring them all into this mold of yours, this ideal infinity in your mind. Caresses, embraces, kisses, the realization of those deep longings, they all fill the mold faster than you realize.

Before you know it you're no longer pouring dreams, hopes, love into the mold - you're pouring yourself. No longer just the artisan, you're part of your creation now. You're inside, reaching through it, putting more of yourself into it, and then you realize you're not alone. Shock? Wonder? Happiness? All of those feelings, maybe? You're not alone, you're both in this together, both part of this creation you had envisioned.

The cast is setting; the world is knocking at the mold from outside, striving to break it down. But you're inside now, you're safe. And while the world breaks the mold away, your vision is revealed, the ultimate vision of infinity you'd imagined long ago, the ideal you'd poured your heart and soul and everything you could ever have into. Set and hardened with love, freed from a mold as flimsy as those first idealistic fantasy visions you had before you set, unknowingly really, upon this quest, it glistens in the light of the real world, an emblem of eternality that you find no force could break apart.


	13. Flight

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

I'm off my game.  
Expect a delay with anything else I'm writing.

School is fun. Animation is grand. Its awesome.  
Otherwise… semi-hiatus? I'll post as I write….

Love to **Zakyoe** because he is the awesome. Give him love.

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 13: Flight**

He's in the air; he's flying.

It's a false sort of flight, but there's wind blowing past him, along with the snow that's everywhere during this season. It's his goggle's fault that he could see so well through the drifting white ahead of him. There's a tree down that hill, and he could see his name spelled out in its branches.

He's going to die.

The thought doesn't bother him, but even after all these years his body still stiffens. The wind is roaring in his ears, and he finds himself wind-milling his arms in a vain attempt to control his descent. He'd be swinging his legs too, but the snowboard weighed them down, and he found he couldn't do much more then move them from side to side. The air underneath the board was pushing up against it, and he could feel it supporting him in the air. Far from being comforting, it only meant his flight to the bottom of the hill, and the tree waiting at its foot, would last all the longer.

Time seems to slow after a moment; everything seems sharper, more pronounced. He can see each snowflake as it falls past his nose, see its edges and its shape. He can see the branches of the distant tree, naked and gnarled, contrasting darkly and sharply against the cloud filled sky behind it. The sound of the wind dies, the roar in his ears fading to a soft rush of air.

He is starting to see things. No matter how many times he goes through this, it still manages to catch him off guard. There they are, the images from his childhood. Freeze-frame moments; the time he and his brother had launched some Hot Wheels off their roof. The time he thought sleeping in the tree in the backyard was the best idea ever. The reel that holds the film of his life spins through his head.

Elementary school, middle school years, they're racing by him. He's in fifth grade again, sixth, seventh. The tree in front is moving closer, ever so slowly, and he's barely making it past eighth grade graduation. No, wait, he's not actually at eighth grade graduation, courtesy of the faulty crossing signals, but there he is, getting a play by play from his friends. And then there's the oh-so-short summer before high school. The video reel is slowing down, its getting towards the end. Only a few more years for it to go before it hits blank film.

Freshman soccer, hazing, lunches out back by the garbage bins with the other smokers.

The tree looms closer.

End of freshman year spent at…somebody's house. It doesn't matter, they were all too wasted to care at the time.

He can see light glinting off the snow still caught on the tree's upper branches.

Sophomore year is coming through, drug experimentation runs high among his peers. Most of his memories are a blur here, muddled and hazy. He is hit with a distinct feeling of nausea that lasts for a few moments.

He's feeling the air slipping out from underneath him.

The memories are still a blur as Sophomore year comes to a close. He could try focusing in an attempt to read them, but decides against it. Junior year is coming closer, the summer in his mind fills with odd jobs and wasted hours. There's no time to party anymore.

His trajectory is off, he can feel it. The air beneath his snowboard is gone.

His memories aren't going to make it…

He hit's the snow hard, but its mostly powder this far down the slope. It billows around him, almost a cushion, and he tumbles slightly down the rest of the hill. The snow down there is piled high, and although his descent was hard he stops short of the tree. Its branches hang ominously overhead, and he watches them closely. A perfect opportunity for one of the ice-laced, snow covered limbs to drop.

None do.

The film in his head is stopped, had been stopped since the moment he made contact with the snow on the hill.

He lies there for a long moment, staring up curiously at the tree above him, wondering, as he sometimes does, about fate, and mortality, and the meaning of things, and whether there is any meaning at all.

A soft sound, like something rubbing softly against the snow, reaches him. In a moment a figure slides to a spot near his feet. The young man grins down from above him and holds out his hand.

He stays still for a moment, looking at the young man thoughtfully, then grins back. Grabbing the hand offered him, he pulls himself up out of the deep snow.

Maybe there is a meaning to everything, and maybe fate and mortality had nothing to do with that meaning, because they couldn't touch it.

Or maybe he was just matching dots without numbers above them.

Either way, he only wished that all his flights would end like this.


	14. Underneath

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Apparently, I am not in a good (writing) mood. Well, maybe emotional mood also.

Also, my white blood cells were low last week. Lethargy coupled with a cold I can't shake coupled with the looming threat of OHNOES low white blood cells! Did not lend to a conducive writing atmosphere…

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 14: Underneath**

You know he doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean it at all.

Not when he calls you a good-for-nothing-piece-of-shit. Not when he complains that you can't hold down a decent job for your life. Not when he ignores you for days on end unless it's convenient not to. Not when he throws you out the door like last week's garbage.

Not when he sends you to hell the third time this week because you managed to annoy him when the TV was on.

You know that underneath that harsh, rough shell he loves you, like he did all those years ago when you first got together. There were no arguments back then, no hurting, no hiding. You don't know when it all went wrong, but you think you'd be able to remember if only you could get past the stupid block in your memories, but you can't. You don't have time. There's other things to do so you don't get him pissed again. And you don't like it when he's pissed, you like it better when he's calm. At least then, even if he does notice you, he doesn't wrinkle his nose as if he'd just stepped in dog shit, or shove you out of the way when all you want to do is ask him what he feels like for dinner.

You know he loves you. You believe it, because after the days done, and if he hasn't gone raging into the night about something random that you didn't even notice, you're together. The two of you, close enough, and you savor those moments, especially now, when they are so few. You want them because in the night, in the dark, his callousness sheds away, and the love is renewed, and the bonds that have come so close to breaking are rebuilt.

You know that underneath it all he loves you. You know it because you say it to yourself, silently, each time his eyes spark fire again. Over and over you run it through your mind, and it helps to dull the moment, and the pain, and the anguish, and all those other feelings that come rushing at you at those times. Its your silent litany, your prayer for salvation.

He loves you, he loves you, and that's why you put up with this. That's why you let those things happen, things that shouldn't be happening. That's why you put up with his accusations and rants and complaints without comment.

He loves you. You say it until you believe it. You say it until you know it. You say it until it chases away that other thing you know, that other thing that you wish you didn't know, because it'd be so much easier to know he loves you without that thing constantly popping up.

You know he doesn't mean it.

You know that, underneath that harsh façade, he loves you.

And you know that underneath the cool, calm, façade you wear, you're still the same scared and lonely teenaged boy you were all those years ago, desperate to love someone, desperate to be loved back; a lonely, desperate boy so enamored in his idol that he is blind to all and any faults it might possess.

You know that underneath it all he loves you.

And that's all that matters.


	15. Medicine

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

AHHHHHHH (sigh of relief) It feels good to write something longer again. :D THE WORLD IS A WONDERFUL PLACE.

No, but really, I had my Art Therapy class today, and I really got rejuvenated. It really helped put the spark back into my creativity, and I really feel like I can DO THINGS.

Anyways, first of all, I feel the need to explain a few things before this short.

**First:** I am hoping to eventually become an Art Therapist. I attend the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, with the hopes of graduating sometime soon with a BFA so I can go on to get my Masters of Art Therapy (and eventually a doctorate? D: Ummm… maybe)

Therefore, I am very, very interested in psychology, and different psychological problems and diseases.

**Second: **I DO NOT KNOW SHIT ABOUT PSYCHOLOGICAL DISEASES. I am no authority figure. What I know is what I've managed to glean from reading multiple sources (ie online journals, academic textbooks, etc.) and I cannot claim that I know enough to even portray the diseases correctly.

It does not help that the disease I use here isn't very well understood, and that the symptoms can be varied, and of different levels of severity.

**Third: **Please visit what a difference . org (without the spaces) . Please. It is important, and it might actually help someday. Because, honestly? You never know. There is a high chance that you, or someone close to you will be affected by depression, which is a serious mental illness, and there is also the chance that someone you know might develop a different mental illness. These isn't a situation where you can go "Oh, it's never going to happen to anyone I know" because YOU NEVER KNOW.

Just skim the page over… it could change your view on things.

**Fourth:** I AM NOT AN AUTHORITY FIGURE ON MENTAL ILLNESSES. Again. Just to reaffirm that.

Thank you **kennylover98** :D MUCH LOVE TO ZE STALKER! (ps yes it is a subliminal thing. I don't know, I could see Kyle being all GRRR mean… and I did do… one oneshot where Kenny's the nasty one… D: but there are many opportunities ahead in this collection! XD )

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100 

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 15: Medicine**

"You can't do this…"

"I'm sorry, but we… we just can't take it anymore."

"He _needs_ you! You can't just push him away like this-"

"We don't want to! This isn't easy for us either…"

"Don't you remember what the doctor's said? He needs everyone-"

"I know, I know, but we just _can't_ anymore!"

"You _can't_…? _You_ can't?!"

"Look, we'll still pay for the treatments…"

"I don't give a fuck if you pay for the treatments or not, that not what's important here-"

"I'm sorry, I really am. But we've done everything we can, what else can we do?"

"You can try _not_ deserting him…"

"We just want him to be in more… _capable_ hands."

"Me? _Now_ you think I'm capable?"

"You have to understand-"

"Oh, I understand pretty damn well…

"…I know you don't, but…I'm sorry… We just can't stand to see him like that…"

"It's so terrible for us, you have to understand…

"So you just want to get him out of your sight for good, I get it…"

"No, no, we'd love to see him, we have to see him… but… only… when he's feeling a bit better…"

"Which will be never…"

"Now look-"

"Whatever!"

The kitchen door swung open, and Kenny McCormick stalked into the adjoining dining room. Bypassing the mahogany table and glass-covered curio across from it, he made his way through the arch leading into the leaving room. Plush couches were tastefully set around an expensive looking coffee table. A large new flat screen TV graced the far wall.

Slouching against the back of the couch across from the TV was Ike Broflovski. His hand was fiddling with a stray thread from his shirt, his eyes focused in front of him. He wasn't watching the TV however, but the young red-haired man seated on the floor in front of the set. Kenny walked up to the seated man, ignoring the black-haired youth on the couch, and placed a hand on the curly red hair.

"Kyle, let's go," He said softly. Kyle jerked a hand up to silence him, staring intently at the TV screen. Kenny was about to repeat his words, but instead turned his eyes to the images Kyle was watching.

It was the Colgate commercial, again. The smiling and the bright teeth and the exposition of too many multicolored toothpaste tubes than should be allowed to show on television. Kenny grimaced, he couldn't help but feel the bile rise whenever that commercial came on. Kyle's hand was gripping his pant's leg now, still focused on the pictures flickering across the screen. Suddenly his hand shot out to point at the screen.

"There!" Kyle whispered, "There, did you see it?"

Kenny looked at the screen, but the commercial had already changed to that of some traveling company. He looked down at Kyle apologetically.

"Sorry, I missed it." He smiled softly, but Kyle wasn't looking at him, or anything really. His eyes were unfocused, he was muttering to himself under his breath, and it was a moment before he responded.

"You have to _look_," The redhead stated, finally looking up at the blonde. The cool calm of his grey eyes was disconcerting, especially since Kenny had, by now, a pretty good idea what was going on behind them.

"Let's go," He said simply.

"Where?" Kyle asked, placing his hands flat on the floor to either side of himself. His attention was fully on the blond now.

"Home," Kenny said, then added, "Our home."

There was a snort from the direction of the couch, but Kenny ignored both it and the black-haired youth that emitted it. He didn't have time to waste on small stuff like that. Kyle got up and turned towards his adopted brother.

"Bye Ike," He said.

"Bye Kyle," The younger man replied.

"I'll see you later," Kyle continued.

"See you," Ike finished. Kyle grinned and turned to Kenny.

"Okay, let's go." The redhead zipped up the jacket he was still wearing.

"Come on…" Kenny led the way to the door and outside.

* * *

"Yeah, can you believe they said that?… I know…" Kenny sighed into the phone receiver. He watched as Kyle arranged and rearranged magnets on the fridge door. Some time ago Kenny had bought a few packs of poetry magnets, and Kyle would mess with them quite a few times during the day. 

Mess with them, Kenny's words, but for Kyle it seemed to have some hidden meaning.

"…Yeah, yeah… Hey, Stan? I was just going to ask you," Kenny leaned back to let Kyle pass him with a handful of magnetic words. "I was going to ask, you know… if, you know, something came up, and… and I needed to…"

Kenny paused, listening. Kyle, pausing in his arrangement of poem words on the microwave, looked at him with a questioning look, but Kenny shook his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know how Wendy can be… I mean, it doesn't have to be…" Kenny paused, "All right, thanks man. Yeah…"

The conversation died off not long after, and Kenny found himself unable to remember much of what was said towards the end. He tapped the button to turn off the phone with a sigh, and stared down at the phone receiver in his hand. Stan wouldn't be able to help too much, but Kenny hadn't really expected anything better.

No, that wasn't entirely true. He'd hoped that there would still be some feelings of brotherhood and best-friendship there. Six years ago he might've still had a chance.

Six years. It was hard to believe that much time had already passed. Six years since Kyle had been finally diagnosed with Schizophrenia. And he'd been with him through all six of those years, and two more before that. Two years where he was the only one who actually seemed to see something wrong with the redhead. And after that the four years it took for his friends and, more importantly, Kyle's family to accept that something was seriously wrong, and actually do something about it. Two years of treatment really weren't that much after all those years. And now, with fewer and fewer people there to support him… Kenny didn't want to think about how much that was affecting Kyle.

He sighed, placing the receiver back in its cradle. Checking the time on the kitchen clock, he walked over to the drawer under the microwave and slid it open. Pulling out the medicine box for that night, he slid the drawer shut again and opened the cabinets above it. He pulled out a glass, shut the cabinet, and filled it with filtered tap water.

He headed out to the living/dining room, where Kyle was seated on the couch. The TV was on, but the volume was low, and Kyle was focused on something on the coffee table. Kenny walked over to see that Kyle had spread out that weeks ads on the top of the table, and was marking different pictures with different colored markers. Kenny sat down next to him, but the other man didn't seem to notice his presence.

"Kyle," Kenny said softly, and when the redhead didn't respond, he repeated it louder, "Kyle."

"Yeah?" Kyle asked not looking up from circling a picture of paper towels with green.

"Its time for your medicine," Kenny said, shifting slightly on the couch cushion. He held the medicine box in one hand, the glass of water in the other.

"Just… just put it down there, I'll take it in a second…" Kyle said, adding some symbols around the picture. Kenny watched him a moment longer.

"I know you didn't take your medicine this morning," He said with a small sigh, "You have to take it Kyle, you know how important it is…"

Kyle paused in coloring in one of the symbols, and then looked over at Kenny with an almost-guilty look.

"…but they always make me so tired…" Kyle muttered, "And my blood sugar acts up, and I get so woozy… and then its hard to focus, you know… on the messages… and…"

"Kyle," Kenny interrupted, and waited until the other man fell silent before continuing, as softly and gently as he could manage, "There aren't any messages."

Kyle lay the marker he was holding onto the paper slowly, then brought his hands to his lap and clenched them together.

"I know…" He whispered the words, then turned a desperate gaze on Kenny, "But they… they're so real, Kenny…"

Kenny could only look at him helplessly, and after a moment the redhead's gaze dropped to the medicine box in the blond's hand. Wordlessly, Kyle reached out and took the box, popping it open and tapping the contents onto his hand. Kenny handed him the glass of water, and watched closely and suspiciously as Kyle swallowed the pill. It almost felt wrong, almost felt hurtful to be so distrusting about something like this, but Kenny knew just how important it was that Kyle got his medicine at the right time, consistently.

"I only missed one dose this time," Kyle muttered darkly, setting the glass down onto the papers. After a moment he lifted it and moved it to a different spot instead. "Is it really that easy to tell?"

"Not for everyone," Kenny said, placing the medicine box onto the table top. As soon as his fingers left it, Kyle reached over and slid it across to a different spot. Kenny looked at it, his eyes unfocused slightly. "You were really stressed at your parents' house today…"

"I could hear everything they were saying…" Kyle twitched slightly, "I didn't want to hear them anymore… And the more I wanted to shut them out, the louder I heard _it_."

Kyle turned to Kenny then, his eyes bright.

"I know the message is there, Kenny, I know _they're_ trying to say something…" Kyle began sputtering out the words, growing excited. "I know, know that… that there's these… these beacon things, like, recievers… and, and senders, and they're sending it out Kenny, I can almost make out the waves - the sounds - they're words, and phrases, and they're put together, they're-"

"Shh, shh Kyle, calm down," Kenny reached out a hand to rub along Kyle's shoulder, and slowly the redhead sputtered to a stop.

"I…" Kyle began again, then stopped. With a look of fierce concentration, he spoke again, but his words were slow, and measured, "I know, Kenny… I know that… if I figure it out, If I know what they're trying to tell me, then I can fix this, Kenny! I can be… better… and then people won't… they won't feel weird around me anymore…"

"Kyle," Kenny started, knowing he had to repeat it again, knowing that he had to continue saying it as often as he could, because repetition reinforced the fact. "The messages aren't-"

"They aren't real, I know!" Kyle shuddered, "I know, but I still think they are."

Kenny pulled the redhead closer to himself, propping his forehead against the side of Kyle's head. Wrapping his arms around the thinner man's waist, he held him loosely, felt Kyle shift against him to get comfortable.

"I need to check my sugar," Kyle muttered after a moment, but didn't make a move.

"Shh, later," Kenny said, rubbing his hands gently against the redhead's side. "Just try to relax right now."

"Relax…" Kyle took a deep breath, and leaned into Kenny even more. A few, long moments passed with only the low hum of near-muted TV sound breaking the silence.

"Kenny?" Kyle breathed after the long pause, quietly. The Colgate commercial was on again, but although his eyes had focused on it, he wasn't paying it as much attention as earlier.

"Yeah, Kyle?" Kenny asked. His eyes were closed, and he was enjoying this moment of closeness.

"…I love you…" Kyle's voice was low, and slightly tinged with fear. Kenny felt a sharp pang in his heart; it hurt to hear that doubt in Kyle's voice. He tightened his hold on the redhead, and pressed a kiss to the spot right in front of his ear.

"I love you too," Kenny whispered back, lips grazing lightly against Kyle's ear. "For ever, and no matter what…"


	16. Inevitable

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Short, but… Not so sweet? Although maybe kind of sweet? Or something…

Anyways, I wrote this one in the library this morning. Couldn't save it to anything there so I had to e-mail it to myself… XD HAHAHA FUN stupid library…

…and I'm guessing nobody who read the last theme (medicine) liked it enough to review? Hm… well, I hope whoever reads theme 15 and now this one enjoys them… :D

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 16: Inevitable**

The wind coming off the mountains that morning was chilly, and no matter how bright the sun shone it couldn't chase the cold away.

They were sitting on the brick wall running around the perimeter of the town square. Bright flowers had poked their way through the thickening grass, but they held an ominous feeling this spring.

Stormy weather was coming, though the sky remained clear and blue.

"It has to be this way," The redhead said, fingers tearing small chunks off of the piece of bread he held. The blond sitting next to him only sighed in reply, watching as the redhead tossed the pieces to the pigeons and sparrows grouped around the center statue. The birds surged en masse to the pieces, attacking the bread ferociously. Sparrows ducked under the larger pigeons, stealing pieces almost as big as themselves and taking off to safer areas.

"Does it really?" The blonde asked finally. The two looked at each other, eyes holding gazes for a few seconds before they turned away.

There really was no way to answer that question now. They'd known this was how it would be eventually.

"That doesn't make it any easier," The blond responded to the unspoken explanation, shifting slightly on the wall. He looked up from the birds towards the distant mountains, gazed at them wistfully. "And it's so far away..."

"That's why it'll be better this way," The redhead sighed, ripping new pieces off of the bread with vengeance. He seemed to be getting aggravated by the situation, and the blond glanced at him sharply, eyes narrowed.

"Maybe you always wanted it to be this way," The blond accused suddenly, voice dropping slightly. "Maybe you never saw anything more."

"How can you say that?" The redhead turned to him, shock etched on his face. His hand had paused midway in ripping a piece of the bread, his fingers still clutched around the near-broken segment. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither speaking, until the blond turned away with a huff. The redhead glared at him for a long moment before turning back to the bread. His next toss was more of a throw, causing the pigeons and sparrows scattering in all directions, and the two had to duck low to avoid being flown into.

"Smart move," The blond sneered.

"Shut up," The redhead snapped, whipping the rest of the bread at the ground. He stood and stalked off, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and eyes on the ground.

The blond sat on the wall a moment longer, then shook his head and stood up. Following the redhead slowly, he eventually caught up a few blocks away. The redhead had stopped to lean back against the wall of the grocery store, blazing eyes focused on some distant point. He didn't acknowledge the blond's presence, instead seemed determined not to notice it.

The blond walked up to him, leaning sideways against the wall and moving so that their shoulders touched, and tilted his head forward.

"I'm sorry, I was out of line," He said softly, speaking directly into the redhead's ear. "I'm just a little..." "...I know..." The redhead sighed, and his stance relaxed slightly. "I feel the same way."

He turned his head to look at the blond.

"You know, just because it has to be like this now..." He continued, his voice near quiet, only a loud whisper.

The blond looked into his eyes for a long moment, a small smile tilting his lips.

"Is that the hopeless romantic talking?" The blond grinned, but his eyes were sad.

"...maybe..." The redhead sighed again, leaning his head against the blond's shoulder. "Maybe..."

The blond lay his cheek against the redhead's, and they stood like that a long moment.

"Then, someday..." The blond began, his voice dropping to the same kind of hopeful whisper the redhead's had been.

"Yeah, someday..." The redhead agreed.

The sun always came out after the storms were gone, after all.


	17. Hidden

-1Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

OMG this one was so much fun.

Honestly, I think the best part about this project is that I can try out so many different styles, and genres, and see how they work for me. :D It's awesome!

REVIEW PLEASE

Cookies and milk to everyone who does:D YAY!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 17: Hidden**

You're hidden, you're safe.

You hope.

Your breath is coming fast.

The shed is old, dingy, filled with rusty tools and old milk crates and just enough garbage for you to dig yourself under. Huddled under a pile of very old potato bags, cardboard boxes and wooden planks, you feel your legs starting to go numb. You can't risk any movement. Any sound.

There's a noise outside, and you freeze, your breathing stops. Your heart is pounding in your ears in double time, much faster than it should be. A drop of sweat slides down the side of your face, and you feel it all along the way. Its under 40 degrees outside, with you wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some pants, and you're sweating.

A bird calls from outside the shed door, and you jerk, gasping convulsively. There's a flutter as it takes off, leaving only the wind to break the cold silence.

You're shaking. You've pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around them, for warmth, but you're shaking. And sweating. And your hands have developed a death grip on your pants. You spare a glance down at them, as best you could in the cramped space, and see that your knuckles, no, all your finger joints have gone white from the pressure.

A stronger wind gusts against the door of the shed, and you're suddenly assaulted by the muted fragrance of late-blooming wildflowers.

Oh, the flowers, oh, the _world._ Only a few days ago you were wandering around through life, energized by the future and full of wonder.

You never thought it would come to this.

Your heart keeps pounding in your chest, in your ears, a sharp staccato with no end in sight. Your breath is coming ragged and fast, your eyes dart around wildly. You can see a little past the pile of junk you're hiding under, your eyes maintain a good view in the direction of the shed door. There's a thin ray of sunlight coming through one of the cracks in the door. It leaves a jagged dash of glowing yellow on the ground, and you can see dust motes fluttering through it, highlighted into life by the sun's glow. A beetle wanders through the gash of light on the floor. Its shell reflects shiny black and bronze, and your eyes are suddenly fixed on it.

Oh, to be a beetle, with nothing more to worry about than your next meal. With the ability to fly from danger, to climb anything, to hide anywhere.

You'd give your arm, your leg, and a good portion of your soul to be able to hide as completely as that beetle. Maybe, if you asked it nicely enough, it would help you.

_Please, beetle, little black and bronze beetle, tell me your secret…_

The beetle stops in its walk, still lit by the ray of light, and you take it as a good sign.

You're speaking to beetles with your mind, and yet it all seems sane at this point in time.

The beetle shifts suddenly, shooting away from the light and vanishing out of your sight.

You're crushed. Your eyes strain hopelessly past the hole in your hiding spot, searching for the beetle. It's gone, and you're alone, with no hope of learning how to hide more completely.

Your breath is straining through your throat, and suddenly you become aware that you're whimpering. Your lips snap shut, and you struggle to keep from making any more noise. The wind is picking up outside, shaking the sides of the unsteady shed.

Tears are pricking your eyes, gathering to drop down the sweat trails on your cheeks. You can't control the whimpers that rattle in your throat each time you breathe.

You don't understand why this is happening. Why? You were a good boy, weren't you? You paid attention to rules, you followed laws. You did what was expected of you.

Sure, you were a little stubborn. And sure, sometimes your parent's would lose their heads over it, but everyone has some faults. You weren't alone in that, right?

You tried to be good to people, you tried to help who you could. Well, at least you didn't expressly hurt anyone. Not really.

Those things don't matter anymore, you realize. The world isn't governed by good and evil, right and wrong. Everything you've known, all the morals you had beaten into you when you were younger have failed you. You're starting to seriously consider the fact that the world has no design, no meaning. That good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people for no reason at all. That there are no good things and bad things, but just things, and no good people and bad people, but just people. And that the world doesn't really care what happens to anyone.

There's a noise. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. You're really crying now, and your pants are soaked through at the knees. You shiver, trying to keep still, straining to listen.

Silence.

You relax a little, a whimper escaping your throat unbidden, and hope that maybe you still have some time left. Just a little time, just until dark. Maybe then you'll be able to get farther away, somewhere where you can find help.

You shift your legs. They've gone past painfully-numb and into non-existent. You attempt to wiggle your toes, but stop when jagged pain shoots up your calves. You whimper again, pressing your face to your knees. A sob escapes, and you're too tired to muffle it. You close your eyes, trying to control your breathing, trying to calm down. You have to make it until night time, at least then you can use the advantage of the dark to hide better than during the day. That's the only solution you can find to keep away from-

A thump shocks you out of your thoughts. You curl tighter around yourself, breath catching. A few seconds of silence, and you're shaking even more than before. The whimpers are coming quicker, breathless near-squeaks of sound, and you can't stop them, and they keep coming and -thump- the whimpers turn into one long squeak.

Thump… thump… your heart is pounding so fast you wouldn't be able to keep up with it if you tried, but you're not trying. Your eyes turn to the shed door, but you're shaking so hard that its hard to focus.

thump

_drag_

Your throat constricts. You can't breathe.

thump … thump…

_drag_

The beam of light is blocked. For the first time since you've hidden in the shed, you are motionless. Your eyes are focused on the door.

The darkness is total.

Seconds pass, and then, slowly, the light returns through the hole. You relax slightly-

thump

_creak_

The door to the shed opens slowly, rusty hinges squeaking slightly.

For a moment the sudden flash of light blinds you. The momentarily blindness puts you in such a state of shock that you find yourself unable to think, act, _breath_.

Your vision returns, and you find yourself clutching at one of the potato bags hanging over your head. You try to release it, but find yourself unable to unclench your fingers from the rough material.

Your eyes turn to the shed door. Silence, but you see a figure backlit by the late day sun. You can't make out much, only that the clothes seem ragged, and that there is an unnatural tilt to it - one of the legs is missing a large chunk out of the side, the jagged edge is apparent in the light.

You try to make out something else, but then the figure moves, and you push yourself back into your hiding spot.

Maybe it didn't see you, didn't think of where to find you, didn't _feel _you yet.

Thump _drag_ and the figure steps into the shed with slow steps. Out of the direct sunlight you're able to make out more of the figure.

_It's HIM_

A cry, a wail, bubbles its way up your throat, but the muscles clench reflexively. You're choking now, but at least you're not making any noise, and it's a good thing, because you know if your throat didn't do it itself you wouldn't be able to keep out the sounds that were trying to rip their way out of you.

The figure's clothes are dirty and torn, stained a deep reddish-brown in many places. The remains of a hooded parka hangs on the figure's body, torn all along the arms and stained much the same as the pants.

Your eyes, however, are drawn to the face. Framed by unruly, dirt-and-blood stained blond hair, it is the face that you have been running from all this time. You can't fight the terror rising in your chest, your body feels as if it is trying to fall apart and pull itself in at the same time.

The figure's left eye is missing, leaving a dark hole surrounded by crusty, dried blood. The right eye is still blue, but clouded, the pupil enlarged. The face is scratched along one cheek, red and green and purple coloring the places where skin was removed. You can't help but watch, in sickened fascination, as the gash underneath the figure's chin opens and closes with each step the figure takes, yellowish, clouded juices seeping from it.

thump _drag_ thump _drag_ thump

The figure is at your hiding place now. You're pushing yourself back against the wall, pain shooting through your deadened legs, items around you shifting, but you don't care about giving yourself away, because you're already given away. Your hiding spot was found, by what supernatural power, you don't know, but it was, and there's no where to go, no way to escape.

The shifting items close the hole you had been looking through, and you're bathed in darkness. Your breathing picks up even more, all you can hear is the shuffle and thump as the figure moves closer.

Your mind is panicking, the clutter around you is crushing you from all sides. Your legs are nothing but pain and your heart is pounding through your head. You're blind, you're blind, you can't see anything, and the world is nothing but black, and above…

…above something shifts.

The items stacked above you move slightly. There is a thud as something meets the ground, and then a moment of silence before things begin shifting again.

You're whimpering aloud now, shaking and clenching at anything that your hands touch. Your eyes are pointed upwards, although you can't see in the darkness, and that only adds to the terror that wracks your body.

A shudder runs through the pile, and light pierces through from above. You dart your eyes away, blinking fiercely in the harsh light.

Another thud as that item drops to the ground.

You turn your eyes back, slowly. Past the old potato bags and milk crates, past dusty wooden planks. Your body shakes harder with each passing moment, tears are dripping down your cheeks, your neck, you've pushed yourself almost onto your back in your terror.

Your eyes finally look through the hole above, and meet with the figure's dead blue eye. You are both still for a long moment, and then you see the figure's lips twitch, begin to curve into a smile.

Your whimpers grow, bursting louder with each breath you take. The figure pushes aside another milk crate and reaches its hands through the hole.

The wail rips out of you, you can't control it. The closer those hands come, the louder your voice rises, but you're frozen, you can't move. And the figure moves closer. And you're petrified. And your wail doesn't end. And you can't control _anything_ anymore.

The hands close around your shoulders, clench tight.

They _pull_ and suddenly you're on your feet, and pain is lancing up your calves and thighs and you're wailing and sobbing.

The figure holds you steady when your legs would rather give out, and keeps smiling at you, and you're tiring so quickly. You just want it to end, to stop. Your wail trails off, but you're still sobbing, and you're shaking your head, but the figure is smiling, and the terror in you isn't going away.

_"…love… together… forever…"_

The rasping, nearly monotonous words shock you, and you're staring in surprise at the figure. For a long moment there is only silence, and your ragged breaths and half-sobs, and the figure's smile.

The fingers around your shoulders tighten. You are being pulled forward, out of the mound of junk, with inhuman strength.

Realization hits you, hard, knocking your breath out.

And then you're screaming and wailing again, twisting in the inhuman grasp, but you can't break free. You can't get away.

Teeth meet your neck, break through your skin, and your screams take on a pain-filled note.


	18. Adjacent

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

These next few chaps are a little shorter. But hopefully, still good. :D

BTW, for everyone who was confused (HAHA) by the last chapter, that was Kyle and a Zombie!Kenny, because Zombie!Kenny is hot and awesome and OMG I LOVE ZOMBIEEEESSS….

Thank you **lightskaylaction **and **YaoiLuver001** and, of course, **ZAK!** Because I know how busy you are with school, thanks for taking the time to review whatever you can. :D

REMEMBER! I gauge how much this story is loved by the amount of **reviews** it gets! YES!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 18: Adjacent**

Kyle fixed the book on his lap, leaning sideways against the wall. He sighed, shifting slightly on the bed, and attempted to focus on the biology textbook. College work was tough, and he was actually starting to fall behind in some of his classes. That had been a shock, especially since he was finding most of the assignments pretty easy.

Well, his inattention during studying couldn't entirely be blamed on him…

The door opened suddenly, and he jerked up right, pulling away from the wall. Flipping a page in the book, he pretended to be engrossed in cellular genetics.

"Dude, you're still not asleep?" Stan asked wearily, tossing himself down onto the bed on his side of the dorm room.

"What? Why?" Kyle blinked, looking around. "What time is it?""It's almost midnight…" Stan groaned, grimacing towards the wall on Kyle's side of the room. "Fuck, doesn't he ever stop? …every fucking night…"

Kyle grimaced himself, eyes flickering over to the wall. The dorm walls were on the thin side, and the moans and thumps in the adjacent room were clearly audible. Kyle sighed, then grinned over at Stan.

"You're the one who thought it was going to be "totally awesome" for all of us to be on the same floor…" Kyle reminded, and Stan groaned again.

"I didn't know we'd have to put up with _that_ all the time," He responded, getting up again to pull of his shirt. "I mean, geez, have some fucking respect, all right?"

Kyle laughed, looking down at his book.

"You're just jealous," He said, flipping to the next page. He really couldn't focus on anything in the book.

"No I'm not." Stan huffed, tossing his shirt down next to his bed and unbuckling his belt. "Why should I be jealous of that stupid, blond haired, blue eyed, fucking "sex god", who can get whoever he wants whenever he wants all the time… I'm not jealous…"

"Right," Kyle shook his head, trying to actually read the words on the page. He was failing miserably, and by the time Stan had crawled into his own bed he'd decided to go to sleep as well. There was just no way he was going to be able to get any studying done. He dropped his book to the floor and flicked off the lamp behind him.

"I don't know how you can sleep with that right next to you…" Stan muttered sleepily, and Kyle chuckled.

"You know me, once I fall asleep it takes a fucking earthquake to wake me up…" Kyle replied, settling down into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin.

"…yeah… 't's true…" Stan muttered.

Kyle listened for a while, hearing Stan's breathing becoming even, hearing the other boy drift off to sleep. It didn't take long, and the noises on the other side of his wall were still there, still permeating through the drywall and into his ears.

Maybe he would do better in school if he actually went to sleep when he should. Or if he actually paid attention to what he should be paying attention to. Sliding over on his back, he pressed his ear to the rough-painted wall. _Blond haired, blue eyed sex god_… he chuckled to himself quietly. But Stan was right, after all.

Kyle heard another moan break through, louder, heard a voice speak. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew it, he'd grown up knowing that voice, and now, hearing it speak with that tone, he felt the tingling rise through his body. He felt the heat he'd been fighting back all night bursting forth. He couldn't fight it anymore, not now, in the darkness. Not being so close, and being so far away at the same time.

Maybe it _was_ a bad idea that they were on the same floor. Maybe it would've been better if they'd been separated across the campus. Maybe then he wouldn't be suffering so much, and so quietly.

Maybe then he'd be able to do what he had to, and just push this all away.

After all, he didn't really have a chance.

Unspoken rules were rules still, especially when they applied in these sorts of circumstances. And no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise, one rule applied more than others, and it was a rule that wasn't made to be broken.

No, there was just no way around it, and Kyle knew it.

Friends just don't fuck friends, after all, no matter how close they are.


	19. Smoking

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Smoking was fun:D…no, not actually smoking, but this chapter… XD HAHAHA I can't smoke, I die from asthma attacks if I do, my allergies say NO TO SMOKING!

REMEMBER! I gauge how much this story is loved by the amount of **reviews** it gets! YES!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 19: Smoking **

Kyle leaned back against the chain link fence, watching the crowd move out from in front of the courthouse. The sunlight was flickering over worried, confused, puzzled faces, faces full of shock and fear and anger. Some containing hurt, pain; some full of a dazed sort of panic.

Kyle pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. They weren't his, and really, he didn't smoke that often, but this felt like a time for a smoke.

Damn, he really hated waiting.

Tapping out a cigarette, like he'd seen it done before, he stuck it between his lips, pushing the pack back into his pocket. Pursing his lips around the cigarette, he started making faces, twirling the little cylinder around from one corner of his mouth to the other. This occupied him for all of ten seconds, after which he decided that if he was going to have a cigarette in his mouth, he might as well smoke it.

Digging around, he found a lighter in his back pants pockets. He couldn't remember putting it there, but then again, he wasn't the only one putting his hands in his back pockets lately.

Flicking it alight, he held it up to the end of the cigarette, attempting to puff it as cool as he could.

A failed attempt, but he didn't choke _too_ bad, and once it was lit he put the lighter back in his pocket and listened in on the conversation of the nearing crowd of people.

"I can't believe he did it, they were his parents…"

"...you know what they say about boys growing up in homes like that…"

Kyle snorted, almost laughing, and let out a large cloud of smoke.

"…and did you hear what the prosecutor said, all because they wouldn't give him money?""Who would want to give someone like _him_ money, even it is for food, like he claimed…"

"_ 'I'm innocent, innocent'_, did you hear his voice? He didn't sound innocent to me…"

"Like a robot, that voice…"

Kyle sighed, folding his arms behind his head. Yap, yap, yap…

"…if they'd only noticed the signs earlier…"

"Signs? You think they'd have noticed anything? They weren't exactly the best parents in the world, you know…"

"So what if they weren't? They were still his parents, they didn't deserve to go like _that_…"

Kyle closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. It was pretty decent weather for fall, with the sun actually shining more days than not.

"It's a shame, such a young boy…"

"Boy's like that should be locked away, done away with, I say."

"How can you say that?"

"I don't want a monster like that growing up anywhere around here, think of what he'd be capable of if he grew up!"

Kyle let out another cloud of smoke, inhaled a little too deeply. The coughing fit that caught him doubled him over, his eyes watering, and he wondered, for the first time, what the hell he was doing smoking.

"What the hell are you doing smoking?"

Kyle didn't look up right away, fighting for breath as he was. A hand clapped him on the back, hard enough to make him choke.

"F-fuck… Don't do that!" He gasped, glaring up at the blond that stood next to him. Kenny grinned brightly down at him, a slightly devious look on his face.

"That's what you get for smoking other people's smokes," The blond said, then held out a hand. "Now give 'em back."

Kyle grumbled, pulling out the pack of cigarettes, and handed it over.

"You want this one too?" Kyle offered, holding up the half-smoked cigarette.

"That's okay, you finish it…" Kenny said, then laughed. "If it doesn't kill you first. Ha, fuck man, I can't believe they don't let people take _anything_ into the courthouse anymore. Just how fucking annoying can they get?"

Kenny pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before putting the pack away. He patted his pockets, frowning, and then turned to Kyle.

"Where's my lighter?" He asked, and Kyle shrugged, putting his own cigarette up to his lips to hide a mischievous grin.

"I dunno, where'd you leave it?" He asked, trying to sound as if he had no idea. Kenny grunted, then grinned, and slid his hand behind Kyle. He squeezed the redhead's ass, laughing at the glare he received for that, before reaching into Kyle's pocket and pulling out the lighter.

"Keeping it safe, were you?" Kenny asked, lighting up.

"As always," Kyle grinned at him, blowing smoke into his face. Kenny stuck his tongue out at him, then grabbed his shoulder and pulled him along.

"Come on, let's go," He said, sighing. "I need to wake up after that…"

"You know, you're not going to get any credit for class if you slept through the whole thing," Kyle admonished, giving him a look. Kenny groaned.

"Kyle, it was four hours!" The blond exclaimed. "Four fucking hours! And they just kept saying the same thing, over and over and over… I think I'm actually stupider than I was when I went in there…"

"Heh," Kyle laughed, shaking his head. "Somehow I don't think that's possible.""Oh, ha ha, mister my-brain's-the-size-of-antarctica," Kenny grumbled, puffing on his cigarette, aggravated. Kyle grinned at him, then pulled him a little closer.

"Come on, you survived," Kyle started, then dropped his voice lower, "And I say that calls for a… _reward._"

Kenny raised an eyebrow, meeting the redhead's gaze.

"Oh, really?" He said, grinning back, "I like the sound of that…"

"Thought you would…"


	20. Prophet

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This one is weird, but if you're reading this archive, then you already know that I love writing weird stuff… XDAnyways, I had this idea, maybe one day I'll make an actual story out of it, for now I have to finish the projects I have started already…

REMEMBER! I gauge how much this story is loved by the amount of **reviews** it gets! YES!

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 20: Prophet**

There they were, written on the paper in his hand, all the prayers of the faithful, the hopeful. He fidgeted slightly on his seat, reading them over and over and over. There weren't too many, no more than twenty, just enough for him to memorize.

He sighed, running a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair. He wanted it cut, but they wouldn't let him. He didn't know why, or what it was with people, but they wanted him to have long hair.

Jesus had long hair, and Moses had long hair, and all the other prophets had long hair…

He set the paper aside, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning his face into his hands. It was tiring, the prayers and the hopes and the expectations. Years ago, when he'd been little, just a child, it all seemed like a game. It was fun; for once, instead of being ignored when he died, or made fun of, he was actually acknowledged. No, after a little while, he was actually revered.

Kenny McCormick, the boy who died, and came back to life. The boy who went to heaven and came back.

The boy who _talked to God_.

Face to face, no less.

The surprise, the shock, the awe that followed after those revelations had been almost overwhelming.

He could still remember that time, where he and his family, overnight practically, went from being the poorest of the poor to the most respected members of the South Park community. And all because he went to heaven and came back, weekly.

Well, not exactly. He went to hell as well, but something changed, something changed drastically.

The people began to believe, believe that he was something more than a boy, something more than a human. They began to believe he was something… _divine_.

_It didn't take long for heaven to become the only place he went to. __It didn't take long after that, didn't take long for the people in South Park to claim he was a prophet, a divine messenger from God…_

A sudden noise brought him out of his thoughts with a start. He sat up, glancing towards the doorway.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," The curly redhead at the door said solemnly, eyes averted. Kenny frowned.

"Stop that, there's no one here," He snapped. The redhead jerked, just a little, a small frown on his face, but looked around the large room before closing the door behind him and turning to the blond.

"It's always better to be on the safe side," He said, giving the blond a hard look. Kenny felt a little guilty, he really shouldn't have snapped like that.

"Sorry, Kyle, I'm sorry, I'm just…" Kenny sighed, dropping his head in his hands again. There was a long silence, he couldn't hear anything, but suddenly, lightly, he felt fingers touch his shoulder. No words, no sound, but they were there, and he felt comforted. "I'm just tired of this. I'm so very tired of this…"

"I know…" Kyle said, somewhere to the side of him, and the fingers on his shoulder tightened comfortingly. "It'll pass…"

"No, no, it won't," Kenny shook his head, lifted it to look into the eyes of the redhead next to him. Kyle looked at him, slightly puzzled, slightly woeful. "I'm tired, Kyle."

The redhead looked thoughtful, stayed silent for a moment.

"People depend on you, Kenny," Kyle said, but his voice sounded strained. "A… a lot of people depend on you…"

"Why?" Kenny asked desperately, "Why me? What makes me so special?"

"You die, Kenny! You die and you come back," Kyle said, took a breath. "It gives people hope.""Hope," Kenny spat the word, turned away. "It gives them hope, and all I get is a headache. And a free trip to heaven every week."

He grimaced, turned back to the redhead who was still watching him with that same mix of pity and pain he always had in his eyes.

"Do you know how horrible it is, Kyle? Do you?" Kenny asked, "Can you imagine? I go to heaven, _heaven_, every week, and it's wonderful. It's great, its so… so amazing, Kyle. And… and then I have to come back…"

Kenny stopped, his eyes focusing on some distant point.

Heaven… he couldn't even begin to describe it, couldn't find the words, couldn't even come close to explaining it…

The fingers on his shoulder tightened their grip, he could feel them shaking slightly. Slowly, so slowly, he turned to face Kyle, turned to look into those eyes so full of grief and pain and pity and…

"I'm sorry, Kenny," Kyle said, his voice soft, strangely controlled for the turmoil in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, I wish I could… I wish I could change it…"

Kenny felt the pang, deep in his heart. Felt the pang that resounded throughout all of him. Kyle had been the only friend who'd remained by him all these years, the first of them all to join in this… this _new religion_, the first to realize that things weren't what they seemed. And now, after all these years, he was still there, he was still right next to him.

The blond dropped his eyes, leaning over to rest his head on the redhead's shoulder. Kenny could feel Kyle stiffen, knew why, knew just how much of this… _devotion_… was simply from friendship, and just how much more of it was from some deeper emotion. But Kenny didn't move, didn't lift his head back. He needed this, needed the human contact he felt so rarely now. He needed the closeness.

Kyle relaxed after a moment, let his arms raise to rest around the blond's body. Kenny let himself be pulled closer, relished the comfort and the warmth the moment gave him.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to sleep.

"…I just want it all to end…"


	21. Fistula

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Going without reviews is like going without food. D :

Love to **Zak** and **YaoiLuver001** : D

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused

Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 21: Fistula**

_(fis-choo-luh): __1.__Pathology__a narrow passage or duct formed by disease or injury, as one leading from an abscess to a free surface, or from one cavity to another._

It is an infection, deep inside me. I can feel it sitting there, right inside my heart. Its poison, it seethes through my body each time my heart beats. It is painful, because I know exactly what is causing it. It is painful, because even though I know the source, I'm helpless to do anything about it.

I'm warm, and it should be comforting, but instead I feel stifled, caught, trapped. The body nestled up against mine, the arms encircling me; I feel as if I'm imprisoned somewhere, locked away with no escape.

I shift, and blue eyes turn towards me. Lips curve in a smile, and I smile back. I wonder if he can tell that it is hollow, my smile. I wonder if he knows that the only thought that crosses my mind when I look into his blue eyes is that they're the wrong shade.

Still, I lean over to place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. He grins, reassured, and snuggles in closer, his arms wrapping tighter around my middle. His eyes turn back to the movie we are watching.

That he is watching, rather. I'd forgotten all about the movie. My mind was elsewhere, on other things.

His arms are comfortable around me, and if I close my eyes I can imagine that it is someone else with his arms around me, someone who is so elusive to me as to be almost unreal. I can imagine that it is _his_ arms around me, _his_ hair that I am stroking softly, _his_ body I feel so close to my own.

I can imagine it is _his_ heat that is warming me through these nights.

I open my eyes, look down. The room is dark, and the only light comes from the television screen.

If I squint, just right, and turn my head, the illusion becomes stronger.

The glow of the screen reflects off his hair, and at that moment the scene on the screen changes. To what, I cannot tell, I am not paying attention to it, but its yellowish light is being reflected off those black strands. I narrow my eyes some more, force myself to stop focusing, to let my vision blur.

It is almost blond now, still a different shade, but I can imagine…

I imagine a lot these days. I imagine how it could have been, how it could still be. I imagine that differences don't exist. Or that they don't matter. I imagine that I'm living a life that I actually want to live, with a person I actually want to live it with.

I imagine, and I smile.

I realize that those blue eyes have turned to me again, puzzled, and the lips that had so soon before been turned in a light smile are now slightly pouted. I force myself to keep smiling, even though the illusion is broken. The light has changed, shifting blue-green-orange glinting off ebony.

The pain in my heart grows with the loss of the illusion. I wonder why I continue to do this, why I keep this charade going. I'm only going to end up hurting him, I know. I know, because as hard as I try I can't keep myself from thinking about someone else. I never could. It was never about the black-haired man next to me, but the blond man that is nowhere near me; a man who I haven't seen in years, now, but who continues to plague my thoughts and my dreams.

Lips touch mine, linger softly. He's worried, I can tell, and the guilt rises up again.

I can't help, I _know_ why I do this, why I _need_ this.

I need the release. The infection inside needs some way out, if only a little.

His touches, his caresses, the soft words he says that are meant for my ears only, they don't come from the one I want, but they are enough to allow some of this painful poison in my heart to leech out, to escape.

I am sure that without him, this would all build up until I could take it no more, until it threatened to destroy me, utterly and wholly; without the release he provides, I would be overwhelmed.

And I am sure that that is the only reason why I continue to do this.


	22. Intolerance

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

This one was fun. Very fun.

REVIEW pleeeaase.

…although I've noticed that this lack of reviews is an overall, entire-category type thing. I think its school, or something, that's doing it.  
I UNDERSTAND. : D

However, if you can spare the moment to write something, that'd be awesome.

Thank you **YaoiLuver001!** : D Now I'm not so hungry. xD

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 22: Intolerance**

Kenny dropped into the desk chair heavily, angrily. His lips twisted in a sneer, and he glared at the boy in front of him, the boy whose room he was in. Sprawling in the chair, the blond resisted the urge to rub his cold hands together for warmth, resisting doing anything other than glaring at the other boy.

"Don't give me that look, you know we have to do this project," Kyle huffed, tossing his backpack down next to his bed. He turned to face the silently seething blond. "And don't look at me like this is all my fault."

"I can't believe I have to work with _you_," Kenny spat, spinning the chair fiercely. The room turned to a blur in front of him, and for a moment, at least, he couldn't recognize where he was.

The chair slowed to a stop eventually, and he found himself looking, once more, at the red haired boy. Kyle stood where he'd been standing, giving him a look that Kenny couldn't quite place.

"What?" The blond snapped, and Kyle's eyes narrowed.

"We should get to work. Thanks to you, we don't have much time left," Kyle crouched down, opening his backpack and rummaging through it in search of the project paper.

Kenny, who'd spent the past few days avoiding the other boy in order not to work on the project, didn't have his backpack with him. Of course, even if he'd come over willingly, without having to be dragged for two blocks before giving in, he would most likely still be without a backpack.

"It's not like you actually need me for this," Kenny muttered, spinning the chair around again, but slower this time. "I'm sure you could figure it out by yourself…"

"The teacher said we have to work in pairs," Kyle said, his voice coming from behind Kenny's back as the chair's revolutions turned the blond to face the desk. A notebook was slammed down in front of him, and Kenny jerked in his seat, turned a baleful glare at the redhead.

"Well, of course, if the _teacher_ says we have to, then we have to," Kenny rolled his eyes. He could see Kyle's hands, still on the notebook, clench threateningly.

"If you want, you can just do this project by yourself," Kyle said, voice low and controlled. Kenny snorted, slouching further back into the chair.

"Right, you'll just let me go ahead and mess this up, sure," Kenny said, looking at Kyle. "Somehow I don't think that failing a project would go over well with you, Mr. Harvard-Headed."

The last words were said in a sweetly-sarcastic tone, the kind that really hits deep, and Kenny saw Kyle's jaws clench. The redhead's gray eyes were dark, tinted green, a sure sign of anger, but he was doing a fine job of controlling it. Kenny almost felt like goading him further, but decided against it. Kyle had always been a stubborn ass, and time hadn't changed that. Besides, the blond wanted this over and done with.

"Fine." Kenny said, patronizing, as if he were merely indulging Kyle for no reason other than that he felt like it at the moment. Which, truthfully, might have been the case. "Let's get this over with."

Kyle grunted, reaching over to power on his computer. Kenny leaned away a little as the redhead moved. He still didn't know why the teacher had paired them up. Just because everyone said they used to be friends when they were little didn't mean they still were. People change, and some change worse than others. In Kenny's mind, that applied full force to Kyle. Always having been very moral, and understanding, although a little stubborn in some things, Kyle had been a source of inspiration, and, in some cases, idolization for the blond.

He'd wanted to be that smart. He'd wanted to be that good. He'd wanted to live in a real house, with a full course dinner every night and watch tv with his family until bedtime. He'd wanted the life of the redhead, a life that had always seemed perfect to him.

Kyle was good, and he was fair, and he knew just what to say to make someone feel better.

And then he changed.

And Kenny found himself being laughed at from three sides instead of one. No longer was Cartman the sole source of nasty remarks. For some strange reason, Kyle had joined in, and whatever Kyle did, of course, Stan was sure to mimic. Not in the stupid sort of mimic, of course, but those two were so close they practically shared minds; they were telepathic, it seemed. It wasn't any surprise, then, that Stan joined in.

No, the surprise had been that Kyle had started at all.

Of course, the redhead's treacherous transformation only served to prove to Kenny that no one, no matter how good they're supposed to be, or how smart, or how nice, was actually as good, or nice, or smart as everyone says they are.

The betrayal he suffered at the hands of who were supposed to be his best friends hurt quite a bit, and even a few years later, near the end of their high school life, it still stung the blond, a septic wound constantly festering, with no way of being healed.

And that was why, even though Kyle was sending him threatening looks, Kenny still was focused on doing absolutely everything he could to do absolutely nothing. Just for spite.

"You know, if you're just going to half-ass everything you do," Kyle started, growling. Kenny grinned at him.

"Then I should leave? All right then," The blond made a move to get up, and Kyle shot him an angry, and exasperated, look.

"That's not what I was going to say," He fumed. Kenny laughed, standing up and stretching his arms out.

"Of course it was, and you know what? I like the idea," Kenny headed towards the door, bypassing the backpack and few books that had ended up on the floor. "Tell you what, you go ahead and do it, and tell the teacher that I didn't help, and get your nice, pretty little 'A', and I'll go home and get some sleep."

Smiling brightly, and without waiting for an answer, the blond opened the door and headed on out.

Kyle was left staring at the door with both near-unrestrained anger and surprise. Well, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, Kenny barely stood being in the same class as him, working together on this project was probably torture for the blond.

Not that it wasn't torture for the redhead, but he thought that maybe their reasons might have been a little different.

Closing his eyes and forcing himself to calm down, Kyle tried to tell himself that the next time he got a chance like this he wouldn't mess it up.

No, he wouldn't get all nervous, and jumpy, and he wouldn't get pissed at himself for being nervous and jumpy, and if he did, he certainly wouldn't transfer those feelings of being pissed at the blond. He wouldn't, because that only led to Kenny getting pissy with him, and him getting even more angry, and it raised tensions and elevated anger levels to unmanageable levels.

No, he'd try to be calm, and to not react when Kenny shot those barbed comments his way.

He deserved them, after all. If only he'd known the real reason why he'd been pushing the blond away back then, if only he'd known _why_ it was so hard to be close to him all the time, and why it was even worse when he wasn't close to him. If only he hadn't taken that anger at himself, that inner turmoil, and slapped it in the blond's face. Maybe then they'd still be friends. Or at least be on good speaking terms. Maybe then they wouldn't be fighting like cats in a barrel each time they got close to each other.

Sighing regretfully, Kyle set around to gather up the papers that had been scattered around. There was no sense in using them now; he'd finished the project a few days earlier, but had kept up the hope that eventually he'd be able to work on it with Kenny. Putting the loose papers away, he headed to the computer and opened up a file. Checking to make sure that both their names were on it, he hit print and leaned back in the chair, listening to the sounds of the printer warming up.

He doubted that there'd ever be a chance of them being friends again.

But he hoped that some day Kenny would find his presence at least tolerable.


	23. Joined EPIC READ PLZ

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Sometimes you write something and it comes out short, and sweet.

And sometimes, you sit down, and you write like there's no tomorrow.This section was three weeks in the making.

You tell me whether its KxK enough for this list. :D

49 pages, over 18,000 words. This could stand alone.

**Love to Zak and YaoiLuver001**** and Ebichu Chan****: D**

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the ConfusedRating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 23: Joined**

I drummed my fingers against my knees, staring out the window as my mom drove me over to Cartman's house. The trees at the side of the road zoomed past, fresh spring leaves shivering in the light wind. The radio was set to one of my mom's favorite stations, and while usually I couldn't stand it, this time I found myself humming along to the song that started playing.

_Here, where they can't find us_

_ I dare them to _

_ call_

_ Me out_

_I tell you _

_ We met here on purpose_

_I bet they can't wait to_

_ Wake _

_ us up_

_It's all a little bit strange_

_ I know_

_ It's a little bit strange_…

"Okay honey, here you go," My mom turned to me, smiling. I grinned back, my hand already on the handle.

"Thanks mom," I said, swinging the car door open, "I'll see you later."

"Bye honey, keep safe, okay?" She called after me. I turned back to give her another grin before heading on down the walkway towards the house. I could hear the car drive off, and found myself still humming to the tune of the song I'd left behind.

The door opened just as I stepped onto the doorstep. Cartman glared at me, looking annoyed.

"Fag, where's Jew-boy?" He asked, looking around, as if I'd hidden Kyle somewhere.

"Kenny and him had a project to work on, I think he spent the night there," I shrugged. Cartman grunted, disappeared back inside the house. I started to walk inside when Cartman reappeared, pushing me back outside as he pulled on his jacket.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching as he pulled the door shut behind him.

"We got thirty minutes to get to the movie," Cartman said as way of explanation, heading on towards the street.

"You still think they're just going to let us in?" I asked, falling in step beside him. It wasn't that hard, considering that at 14 Cartman had reached the size of a baby beluga, and couldn't move fast to save his life.

"They have to," Cartman snapped, then stopped to look at me. "Where the hell are they?"

"How should I know?" I answered, sighing. "They're probably heading over from Kenny's house."

"Fucking poor boy," Cartman grumbled, heading off again.

"We can just meet them on the way, I guess," I sighed, realizing that I really didn't have a choice. Cartman was super intent on going to see whatever movie was playing right now. Probably something about conspiracy theories, or gassing masses of people, or something of the sort. I hadn't been really paying attention to what he was ranting about before, I just came along so I could get out of the house and hang out with my friends.

Cartman checked his watch, grumbling under his breath, as we walked, and kept checking every few seconds. Apparently, time was not slowing down as he wanted it to, and he found that fact highly unforgivable.

"Where the hell are they?" He growled finally, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to glare at me murderously.

"I told you, I don't know. Kyle said they'd meet us at your place." I reminded him, "They might be there, you know.""How'd they get there, douche? This is the quickest way to my house," Cartman motioned at the street in front of us.

"Maybe… somebody drove them," I supplied, although I knew that was highly improbable.

"Sure, probably Kenny's drunk-ass dad with the pickup that's up on blocks on their front lawn, right?" Cartman snorted, heading on down the street again, his pace picking up. "Twenty minutes, we got twenty minutes, if those bastards make me late to the greatest movie ever I'm going to kill them."

I rolled my eyes and followed him. Honestly, though I acted indifferent, I was starting to get a little worried myself. Kyle wasn't one to come late, he was always punctual, and he always showed up when he said he would. Kenny… was a different story, but Kyle shouldn't have had a problem dragging the blond over on time.

"What if they went to Stark's?" I asked, trying to think of where they could have gone.

"We could check…" Cartman said grudgingly, and suddenly I realized the he hadn't been checking his watch for a while now. Either he'd given up getting to the movie on time, or… he was actually…worried.

I shook my head, snorted. No way would Cartman be worried, he was most likely quiet because he was plotting our friend's demise. Yeah. That was the Cartman thing to do.

Still, we found ourselves heading towards Stark's Pond at a fast pace. I don't know why, but it felt as if something were pulling us there, inexplicably drawing us towards that place. I reached the dirt trail that led the way off of the main sidewalk before Cartman, rushed down it towards the low hill that stood between us and the pond. I must have been moving quickly; I heard Cartman's breaths come heavily behind me, but he was still keeping up.

The sun was glittering on the water as I topped the hill. I had to squint to keep the glare form blinding me, and focused on two forms laying on the pond's shore. Cartman came up beside me, leaning almost half over with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily.

"What are they, sleeping?" He asked, having recognized the two forms on the beach.

I shrugged in reply, heading on down the side of the hill, albeit at a much slower pace than before. My eyes focused on the two prone figures, and I thought that I should call out to them, call their names. Something kept me from doing that, something kept me walking slowly forward towards the beach.

The wind had the lake in motion; there were little waves lapping at the edges of the water. Cartman was right next to me as I walked, but his grumbles that had started up at the top of the hill grew quieter the closer we got, until we both walked in silence towards the lake.

It couldn't have been more than a minute or two, that walk, but it seemed to take forever. It seemed as if an insane amount of energy had to be spent to lift my foot, to put it back down, then to lift the other. Step, step, and still I felt pulled forward, compelled to move. I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to.

We were about ten feet away when I heard Cartman make a noise. It didn't really register at that moment; strangely, nothing really registered at that moment. I heard Cartman make the noise, I felt him stop, but I made nothing of it, continued to walk on as if I hadn't heard him.

Nine feet away… eight… seven… I felt Cartman's hand grip the back of my jacket, pulling me to a stop. I felt it, but I wasn't paying attention to it. My eyes had fixed on the two figures of my best friends laying on the gravely sand at the edge of the pond.

Both Kyle and Kenny lay on their backs, their feet towards the water. Their eyes were closed, they both looked as if they were sleeping. They could have been sleeping, I thought, except I noticed that neither one of them moved. Their faces were pale, too pale. Kyle's left jacket arm was cut off at the elbow, as was Kenny's right one. Their arms were pressed together, inside against inside, and tied around and around with a long red string.

I frowned; a large stain marred the sandy gray of the shoreline, descended down to the edge of the water. The small waves were lapping at the soles of their shoes, tinged with pinkish foam where they met the stain.

I frowned, and I kept frowning. My mind wasn't putting two and two together. I saw it all, but it didn't register, it didn't even begin to register.

Cartman was pulling me back, pulling me away, and I tried to fight him, to stay, but he put his weight into it and dragged me away. I kept looking back as long as I could, but that didn't last long. We stumbled back up the hill, and nearly fell down the other side since my feet weren't working as well as they should have worked.

"Where are we going?" I said, balking at the bottom of the hill. Cartman gave me a wide-eyed look, eye's flickering from me to the street we'd come from. I didn't like the way his eyes looked, wild, and I continued, "They're… they're hurt! We have to help them!"The thoughts came to me suddenly; of course they were hurt! That's why they weren't moving, and that made sense. We should be back there, helping them, not running off somewhere.

I think I told most of that to Cartman; he gave me the strangest look I had ever been at the receiving end of, and maybe, no, definitely, it was made even stranger because it came from _him_. An odd mixture: disbelief, pity, anguish, fear, and others. Too many feelings were in his eyes, too many to put to words, and then there was anger. Anger, and I thought for a moment he was going to hit me.

"We are, Stan," He said through gritted teeth. Grabbing hold of my arm this time, he dragged me towards the street. "We're going to find someone who can help."

"But…" I protested, but only faintly. His fingers dug into my arm painfully; the memory of what I had just seen was prodding me, poking me, shoving at me. I couldn't help but think I was missing something, something important. That I was looking at something and not seeing it.

What was it? What was I missing? What couldn't I figure out?

I tried going over everything in my head, but I couldn't. The pieces were scattered around, flying around me, there was a typhoon in my head and the wind was tossing the facts around, the rain making them melt and run. I couldn't think straight; it was a miracle, really, that Cartman managed to drag me to the street without me falling flat on my face.

Vaguely, I saw him wave desperately at passing cars. I wondered what he was doing; my mind just wasn't working correctly. He managed to flag down a car finally, and a woman came out, in her thirties, maybe, asking what was wrong. I saw him dart a slightly fearful look my way before leaning over and whispering something to the woman.

Immediately her face turned to a mask of shock. Her hands covered her mouth as a small, sharp gasp. She gave Cartman a wide-eyed look, her hands shaking around her mouth. Pulling them down, she dug through her purse, her hands seemingly grabbing everything except for what she was looking for.

When she spoke, she spoke quietly. I couldn't hear her, I was too far away, but I saw her lips move. I saw her lips form the syllables. I saw the word she spoke at the end, saw her mouth form the 'd' and the 'eh' and the 'd' again.

I saw Cartman, teeth gritted, expression grim, nod once.

My mind, a whirlwind before, came to a screeching halt.

"Dead…"

I didn't think I spoke aloud, but Cartman turned his head towards me sharply, shocked. He started to say something, but I couldn't hear him. My eyes turned back towards the hill we had just came over, my thoughts went back to what I'd seen of my friends, laying on the shore.

I was back there again, looking down at their serene faces, at the pallor of their skin. I could see the red string tying their bare forearms together, see the dark stain that soaked into the sand beneath. The stain, dark reddish-brown, running down to meet the pink-foam flecked water.

Dark red, like the sun when it set.

Dark red, like the blood that used to flow through the veins of my friends.

I must have moved, I must have, because I found myself running up the side of the hill. The woman's yells barely reached me, Cartman's curses were left behind me, I was cresting the hill and I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

No way, there's no way. It wasn't true, it wasn't. It was some joke, or a bad dream. That's right, that's all it was. It wasn't true. It wasn't.

It wasn't, but I was getting close to them again, I could see them, clearly now, see the stain between them, see the red creeping into the fabric of their jeans where it touched, see it staining their arms and the fingers of their hands.

I needed to be closer, I _needed_ to, but a few feet away I was picked up off my feet, half spun around and dragged away again. I fought back, felt my punches hit home on flabby flesh.

Cartman grunted, then grabbed me by one arm and threw me down on the ground. I started to get up but he sat down right next to me, nearly lay on top of me to keep me down. He was saying something, kept repeating something, but I didn't listen, I didn't want to listen.

"No, no, this isn't real," I said, twisting in his hold. "This isn't happening, Cartman, tell me this isn't happening…"

"Calm down Stan," He said, in a voice so controlled I wondered whether he was feeling anything at all at that moment. "Calm down."

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up…" I tried to reach out and hit him again, but I found I didn't have the strength.

Somewhere in the distance sirens were playing, they were getting louder, and I clenched my hands around my ears to try and drown out the sound, shoved my face into the ground until the only thing I could see was black, black everywhere around me.

* * *

Kyle's funeral took place a few days after the two were found. I can't remember exactly when, my mind was a blur. I was detached, numb. I didn't see anything I looked at, I couldn't taste anything I ate. 

I watched the proceedings without emotion. I didn't understand Jewish funerals, and honestly, I didn't want to understand them. If I understood, that meant that everything had really happened. Kyle was really… dead. He wasn't coming back.

And yeah, for a long time, ever since I got up off that grass by Stark's Pond after the ambulance had rolled away, lights dark, I still believed, somewhere, deep inside, that this wasn't happening. That Kyle was just sick, that he was going to come home any day and we were going to go back to playing video games all night and watching the sun come up from the roof of my house.

I stood in the cemetery, staring down at the plain pine box in the hole in the ground, and I still didn't believe it. That wasn't Kyle down there, it was a box. A wooden box. And that was it.

"Stan…"

I found myself wavering at the edge of the hole, shocked, suddenly hearing his voice. He was calling me, I could hear him! I could hear him calling me…

"Stan, honey, you need to take a step back now…"

A hand closed around me arm, and I allowed myself to be pulled away, sinking lower into despair. It wasn't Kyle. Kyle wasn't calling me.

Kyle was dead.

The hollow thump of dirt hitting the pine coffin accented my thoughts.

Dead – _thump – _Dead – _thump_ – DEAD

The wind suddenly rose around us, blowing harshly, suddenly, through the surrounding trees. Branches rustled loudly, and for a moment, I swore I could hear a voice, a moan, on the rising wind. The moment passed, I dismissed it as nothing more than my mind playing tricks.

I turned, prepared to leave, no longer wanting to stand there and watch them cover my best friend in dirt. Everyone was crying, or trying not to cry, or looking away somewhere to make it seem as if they weren't crying. Everyone except me; everyone except for the young boy standing off to one side.

My eyes met Ike's, and the wind's moans came back to me. There was a sadness in his eyes, a sadness that, strange as it sounded, seemed deeper than one caused only by the passing of a loved one. There was sadness, and there was, I saw, surprised, distress. Nervousness. Something was wrong.

I was in no state of mind to ask him, and, it seemed, he was in no state of mind to tell me. So I turned, and I left with my parents, unable to stand there and listen to the groaning wind and the thumps of earth against wood any longer.

"Stan? Can you… can you come over… for a few days…"

I winced at the sound of Ike's voice; he sounded desperate, helpless.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that no, I can't. I can't handle being in that house. I can't handle being so close to where Kyle used to be and not see him, not know he was there.

There was safety in my home. There was safety here, even if it wasn't that far away, because I could ignore the phones and turn on the TV and imagine that Kyle was off visiting relatives in New York or something.

But Ike sounded as if he felt even worse, and I tried to imagine, tried to imagine an eight year old, trapped in a house, where he'd no longer be able to talk to, or to see, his brother again.

And I couldn't, I couldn't imagine losing someone like that. Our pain was different, but, I realized, maybe it needed the same sort of comfort to heal.

"Sure, Ike," I answered, although my confidence wavered even as I spoke. "I'll come stay with you for a little bit…"

"Thanks Stan."

The relief that flooded through his voice made me feel all the worse for thinking about refusing. As I hung up the phone I wondered whether I would have actually done that, refused. Whether I could have said no to the boy. I thought about how it would be, to walk to that house and know that Kyle was going to be the one who opened the door, to sleep over and know that there would be no late night talks with my best friend about life and friends, and all the things that don't really matter but seem important at the time.

I was going to be spending the night, I realized suddenly. I'd agreed to stay for a few days. The thought hit me hard, I had to sit down and really breath for a moment.

But I couldn't back out now, Ike needed me.

And maybe just knowing that would help me make it through.

* * *

I walked over to Kyle's house finally, carrying a duffel bag with clothes and watching the ground. I didn't need to look where I was going, I knew this route better than any other. For years I'd walked this street, took this turn, crossed this intersection. Kyle's house wasn't far away, and I could get there quicker by cutting through a few yards, but I felt the need to take the long way around. 

Truth be told, I was still in denial.

Not surprising, I'd already admitted it to myself before, but each time I did I woke the next morning to find myself disbelieving again. And here I was, walking to the place that would, once and for all, affirm the fact that my best friend was gone.

I sighed, and found the wind around me sighing back. A trick, maybe, my mind being locked in turmoil as it was, but it really did sound like a sigh. I could swear I heard the sound of a human voice, and found myself looking around.

I stood alone, in the middle of the sidewalk, halfway to Kyle's house. The wind picked up slightly, a few scattered leaves on the ground fluttered a bit. A sudden sense of being watched struck me; I could feel someone's eyes on me, but I couldn't see who. Shaking the unnerving sensation off, I began walking on. The wind seemed to follow me, I was hearing things, like whispers, like sighs, but I told myself it was just the wind. It had to be the wind, there was no other explanation.

The wind picked up suddenly, and I felt mentally assaulted, almost, as if something was projecting thousands of whispers, hushed voices, straight into my brain. Startled, scared, I stopped in my tracks, spun around to see if I really was alone, if maybe someone wasn't playing some cruel joke.

The whispers in my head died away slowly; I still stood alone on the sidewalk, surrounded by nothing but air, but it seemed that the air was exactly what was causing all this trouble.

Even as I watched, the wind seemed to flutter away, the leaves that had been shifting around moments before were settling down, leaves further along the sidewalk beginning to move again, as if the wind were a living entity, and wherever it set its foot down it disturbed anything that lay close by.

I watched for a moment before dismissing it as just a strange anomaly, nothing to be concerned about. Obviously, I was over stressed, and was seeing and hearing things that just weren't there.

Turning back around I headed onward, faster even if I didn't fully realize it, and reached Kyle's house in short time.

The doorbell was to the right of the door. It stared at me, a black button in gold casing, like an eye. I felt watched, under observation. Angry with the mocking eye, I shoved it in with my finger, felt a strange sort of happiness when I heard the ring inside.

As soon as the bell rung I heard a familiar sound: footsteps coming down the staircase that stood opposite the door. They were hurried, as if they weren't sure whether the person behind the door was going to wait until they got there. My breath caught, I stared at the door in paralyzed anticipation..My mind was transported back a few weeks; I found myself beginning to smile.

The footsteps hurried through the short hallway; my ears strained to catch the sound, every sound. My eyes were focused on the door, I was willing it to be opened.

The footsteps came to a stop before the door; I jerked slightly forward, as if the door were already open, then caught myself, waited patiently.

The door remained closed.

The smile on my face that had been beginning to grow, began to fade instead. My hopeful gaze turned to one of confusion; had I really heard what I thought I'd heard?

Apparently not, the doors remained closed. Sadly, I slumped as I stood there, realizing that, once again, my mind had played tricks on me. Kyle wasn't coming to open the door, no matter how hard I hoped for it.

Other steps were coming, however. These were slower, quieter, made by someone who was most likely smaller and not in as much of a hurry. The door opened slowly, and I was met by the grave, solemn dark eyed gaze of Ike.

The boy seemed to brighten slightly when he saw me, but there was still a shadow in his eyes, a certain nervous flutter when they moved. I tried to smile at him, but I can only guess that it failed. There was no way any smile of mine at that moment resembled anything other than a pained grimace.

"Hey Ike," I said, and tried to say more, but found myself unable to form any words. Ike nodded, as if in understanding, and let me pass him into the house. We stood there in silence for a long moment, Ike watching me, trying to look at least slightly happy, but not managing. And me, uncomfortable in a house that used to be as familiar to me as my own. I didn't recognize it any more, there was something missing. Something big.

"Where are your parents?" I asked, grasping at conversation to break the stifling quiet around us.

Ike looked away a moment, turned his eyes back towards me without focusing on my face.

"They're at the cemetery," Ike said, his voice shaking slightly. My mouth began to form an "oh", but he cut me off, shaking his head, "No, not like… not like they wanted to. They had to go because…"

"Because what?" I asked, unsure and not liking the look on the boy's face. Ike started walking towards the stairs, slowly, but it was apparent he didn't want me looking at him as he talked.

"Because there were problems… The cemetery director called… and he said that someone had…" Ike paused, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He put his hand on the banister, seemed to waver there, unsteady.

"Had what?" I moved towards him, and hearing my steps he shook himself, began to climb up the stairs. "Ike?"

"Someone had… vandalized his grave…" Ike's voice came out strained. "The… the director said it looked as if someone had tried… digging him up…"

I nearly fell on the first step. Staring up at Ike's back in disbelief, I held tight to the banister and attempted to speak, to say something.

Ike turned back to me with wide, scared eyes.

"Why would someone do that?" He asked, desperately almost, then shook his head. "No, I mean… but… no…"

"How… how did you find out?" I managed to get words out finally, "Did they tell you?"

Ike looked away, guiltily I thought, then turned and started up the stairs again.

"Sure," He answered vaguely, his fingers trailing along the banister. I followed him again, frowning.

"What are your parents going to do about it?" I asked, deciding that Ike definitely knew more than he was telling.

"They said something about a mausoleum…" I thought I could see him shudder, "It's not exactly very traditional, but they think that maybe it'll keep whoever it was from doing it again… Mausoleums have security cameras and stuff like that, you know…"

We reached the top of the stairs, and Ike led me over to the first bedroom on the right.

"Mom said you can stay in the guest room, Stan," He said, as if I hadn't known, but I thought that maybe just talking, just keeping the conversation going, was helping him in some way.

"Thanks, Ike," I grinned, wearily, and Ike returned a tired grin of his own.

"Do you want anything to eat? Or drink?" He asked, seemingly eager to be doing something, maybe to keep his mind of other things.

"Sure, anything's good, as long as its edible," I answered, tossing my bag down by the neatly made twin bed.

"We have plenty of food, all our relatives brought a whole bunch of stuff over," Ike said, "I'll go get some ready."

"Ike," I said suddenly, catching him before he dashed out the door. He turned back to me, a questioning look in his eyes. I looked at him for a long moment, really looked.

"How old are you?" I asked, and he frowned at me.

"Eight. I'll be nine in a few weeks," Ike answered. After a moment he sighed and rolled his eyes. "I know…"

"I just forget sometimes…" I chuckled, ruffling his hair. He grimaced, but suffered in silence.

"I'll go get some food ready," he said finally, heading out and on down the hallway. I watched him go, then turned to look around. The room I'd be staying in wasn't huge, but it wasn't a closet either. I'd seen it before, but I'd never really been inside it; I never had a reason to. Whenever I slept over me and Kyle would end up staying up all night, and if we did fall asleep, it was more often than not on his bedroom floor, still holding game controllers in death grips, the TV flashing "Game Over" until morning.

Kyle. I turned to look into the hallway. A little ways down, and across from where I stood, was Kyle's door. It was closed, and I stared at it for a long time, wondering. Thinking.

"It's locked."

I started, surprised to hear Ike's voice come out of nowhere like that. I looked at him, saw him staring at the door intently. After a moment he looked up at me.

"The food's ready." He said, and I nodded. Together we headed on down to the kitchen.

* * *

It was nine that night. I was standing outside Kyle's door. My hand had nearly reached the door handle, hovered just an inch away. My stomach felt like it had a life of its own, like it was some flighty beast, roiling around inside me. I swallowed, hard, forced my hand to move closer to the handle. 

I remembered what Ike had earlier, that the door was locked. At first I had dismissed it, maybe he'd meant it was closed. The door couldn't be locked, not really. Well, it could, but the only way of locking it was from the inside. There were no keyholes, there was no way of either locking it or opening it from the outside.

Kyle had always been mighty proud of that fact, that he could lock his door and keep everyone he wanted out, out.

So, of course, I didn't believe Ike. I couldn't, because there really was no way that any parents would lock the door of their dead kid's bedroom in such a way that they'd have to, literally, dismantle the door in order to get back inside. Honestly, who would want to do that? I couldn't see either Mr. or Mrs. Broflovski going that far, that would indicate that they were really trying to forget that Kyle had ever even lived there. And that really was unthinkable.

Coming to the conclusion that there was no way the door could be locked, I found it easier to move my hand towards the handle.

For some reason, I stopped just before touching it. Glancing around, I felt uneasy, as if I was about to encroach on some hallowed ground, that I was doing something that wasn't really allowed.

Stupid, I'd been in Kyle's room dozens of times before. I could go in there one more time if I felt like it.

Forcing my hand onward, I gripped the brass knob, and turned.

The handle jolted to a halt in my grasp. I had been so sure it would turn that even though it stopped, my fingers kept moving, slid off unexpectedly. Frowning, I tried again, holding the knob tighter, but with no luck. The handle wouldn't budge; the door was locked.

My fingers gripped the handle as I stood there, staring down at the dull brass and thinking hard. I remembered coming up to the house, remembered looking, habitually, up at Kyle's window. Remembered seeing it closed, shades drawn.

The door had to be locked from the inside.

I couldn't get past that point, but there had to be a way. Some way.

Suddenly, I felt a slight tremor go through the handle, felt it move slightly in my grasp.

_click_

I stared at the handle in disbelief. Slowly, unbelieving, I tried to make my fingers move again, but it took a moment before I felt strength come back into them. Slowly, slowly, I turned the handle… and felt the click, the shift, in the mechanism inside.

The handle turned, and with a slight push, the door swung open. For a long moment I stood there, staring into Kyle's room, still disbelieving that the door had opened so suddenly. Still, I felt the pull to go inside the room, and I stepped through the doorway.

In that first moment I was flooded with the feeling of being welcome, of being somewhere that was familiar and safe and good. I felt, I even dared to think, accepted, wanted. Looking around, I felt somewhat comforted by familiar surroundings. I knew Kyle's bedroom as well as I knew my own; I'd spent years coming here to hang out, running over in the middle of the night when I didn't feel like sleeping.

Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw something, a figure maybe, standing by the window. Jolted, I jerked around, but didn't see anything. The window was closed, the area in front of it empty.

Strangely, however, the shades were no longer drawn, but opened, with the light of the streetlamp outside illuminating the room.

Still, even with that light, and the light from the hallway behind me, the room was half-dark. I reached out towards the wall, flicked on the light switch and shed light into the darkness.

There were papers scattered everywhere, as if a harsh wind had blown through the room. In the darkness I hadn't seen them, but now they were everywhere. Papers, notebooks, books, thrown around carelessly.

A pang ran through my chest, I felt the rise of anxiousness rise in me, choking my throat, clenching my stomach. Why I reacted that way, I don't know, but I felt nervous, suddenly. I felt… trapped.

Trying to shake off the feeling, I started walking around the room slowly, picking up papers and books and attempting to put them into neat piles on the bed and desk. Some of the papers weren't papers at all, but photographs. A lot of them were landscapes, long shots of forests and the town and some amazing views of the late evening sky.

One was a shot of Stark's Pond, taken from the top of the hill that stood between it and the street. I could clearly see the place where we'd found them, laying on the shore of the lake. A sense of foreboding crept into me, although why, I didn't know. What had happened had happened, I doubted anything could happen now that would cause me to feel this way. Still, I put the photograph down hurriedly, shoved it out of my sight and tried to shove it out of my mind.

Slowly, methodically, I moved through the room, picking up what lay around and putting it away. The room eventually was clean, or as clean as I could make it. The photographs and papers and books were mostly piled up on the desk, although a stack or two was leaning precariously on the bed. Looking around, I noticed that one more photograph that I had missed. It lay on the windowsill, right next to the glass, and I walked over to pick it up.

I glanced down at it as I did. It was a shot of Kyle and Kenny, taken from an arm's length, from what I could guess. It was one of those shots where the people in it weren't ready, an impromptu picture that caught the moment right before, or maybe right after, they'd been posing. Their faces were still turned towards the camera, but their eyes were on each other. Kenny was grinning slyly, as if he were in on some secret the rest of the world didn't know about. Kyle's smile was content, relaxed. They were both happy, and it was in that moment that I realized that, in the past few months, I really hadn't seen either of them as happy as they were in the photograph.

Walking back to the bed, I sat down, still staring at the picture in my hand. There was something there, between them, in that picture. And maybe Kenny's grin said it all, maybe they both were in on a secret no one else knew about.

I turned the picture over, wondering when it was taken, wanting to check the processing date on the back to find out. There were words written on the back, scrawled in black pen, in a hand I recognized. Not Kyle's, his writing was always bunched together, small, written perfectly but impatiently, as if his hand couldn't keep up with his mind. This writing was more relaxed, written by someone who didn't seem to care if it was understood or not. Except that this time, for this handwriting, the words were written clearly, legibly. This time they needed to be understood.

_Don't ever forget how much I love you_

No punctuation at the end; no end to the statement? This wasn't a "remember me" sort of thing, but more of a dedication. An unfinished sentence that could be added to, that could go on forever.

And it emphasized the other thing I had been trying to put out of my mind.

It wasn't just Kyle who died on that beach, it was Kenny too. They went out together, a pair, tied at the arms by a red string. It hit me, not long after the shock wore off, why they had done that. I'd heard of different suicides, where lovers died joined together in death, but I'd never thought I'd see one. And there it was, Kyle and Kenny, tied together, dead.

I really thought, at that point, that Kenny was dead, truly dead. It'd been over a week, and he still wasn't back. Maybe he'd followed Kyle, wherever he'd went. Maybe they were together, somewhere.

Love. Did they really love each other? Was it really love that bound them tight, or was it just a crush, a powerful liking, any other emotion mistaken for love?

I mean, at fourteen, does anyone know about love? Did we? I'd gone out with a few girls, and there had been times I'd told them I loved them, but I'd never… I'd never go this far for any of them. I'd never give my life for them. Not for love. Not for the kind of love I knew, and accepted as reality.

I wondered, was their love different? Did their love go beyond just what we knew as real? Maybe they'd found a way past the simple feelings of puppy love, maybe they'd found the path that led to something deeper, truer. I didn't know what I wanted to believe, that they'd been stupid, or that they had actually, really been in love.

I found myself laying down on the bed, eyes still focused on the picture I held in my hands. There was something there, between them. Something deep, something real. Something I've been missing. And I wondered how stupid I had to have been, how stupid and how blind to have missed it. There had to have been signs, there had to be some indication that this was going on; did I shove it out of my mind, did I block myself from seeing it, from understanding it, like I did with their suicides? Did I force myself to look a different way, to ignore something that was probably right there in front of me all this time?

I thought back, thought of the times when Kyle said he couldn't hang out, when he said he'd be helping Kenny on a project, or on homework, and that there was a storm coming, or that they'd worked late, he'd be staying the night. I wondered just how many hints Kyle could have dropped, just how many times he tried to ease the information over to me. I knew Kyle, I knew he wouldn't just go off and do something and not try to tell me about it, and I couldn't understand how I could have missed his signs. I'm sure they were there, I'm sure I just looked the other way each time they came up. No one wants to think their best friend is gay, right? Especially if they're gay for another mutual friend…

* * *

When I woke it was dark. The colors in the room were muted, and someone must have turned the light off. The picture I had been holding was on the floor, near the window, as if it had been plucked out from between my fingers and tossed away. I stared at for a moment, as best I could while lying on my side on the bed, then slowly moved to get up. 

Everything was silent. I strained to hear something, but couldn't detect even the slightest hint of sound. The blinds were drawn up, the window was clear, and I could see the branches of trees outside moving in the wind, but I couldn't hear them, not even when they touched the side of the house. I stood up shakily, glancing around warily. Was I still asleep? Was I dreaming? It seemed like it, with everything so dull, so formless. The desk, the chair, even the bed I'd just left, seemed smoky, hazy, as if they weren't solid objects.

I looked down at my hands, my feet, my body, half-expecting to be just as formless, just as smoky and unreal.

I was solid, but gray, as if all the colors had bled out of me. My blue shirt was an off-shade of gray, my navy pajama pants almost black. The room around me was shades of gray too, all pale or dark, the colors gone. When I moved I felt like I was walking through smoke, through a cloud, I could feel something touching me, but nothing was there.

I made it to the door, opened it, hoped to hear it creak, or something, but it swung silently, smoothly open. Stepping out of the room I pulled it closed behind me, looked up and down the hallway. Silence was absolute, and the entire hallway seemed to be lit with ambient light, a soft glow that seemed to come from everywhere at once. I stood there for some time, how long I can't exactly tell, but a sudden noise jerked me back into action.

_THUD_ – from down below, I could feel a shudder run through the house, a little shudder, but in the silence and the stillness it seemed much larger. I moved, slowly, to the top of the stairs – _THUD_ – and found myself almost jumping when the sound repeated.

It sounded like something being thrown against the wall, or no, maybe a door. The stairs below me seemed to stretch for eternity; I took them one at a time, placing both feet on each step before moving on to the next. It was quiet and it was still, but my heart was racing in my chest, and I could barely draw breaths fast enough. My hand on the banister shook, and I felt a small bead of sweat trickle down from my forehead, along the edge of my face.

I was terrified, each step down drew me into a larger cloud of fear and oppression. I felt squeezed, trapped, confined, it was getting harder to breath, harder to draw the oxygen into my lungs; and my lungs, they burned, with each rattling breath I took they ached. I was making it down the stairs – _THUD_ – and the sound was getting louder; I was getting closer.

At the bottom I had to stop, lean on the banister to steady myself. I drew breaths quickly, almost worthlessly, expelling the air as soon as I sucked it in. My heart was pounding in my ears, almost louder than – _THUD_ – the sound in front of me. I was staring at the door, I could see it – _THUD_ – shudder with each heart-stopping sound. Slowly, I unclenched my fingers from around the banister. They ached, didn't want to go back to their normal shape. My hands looked deformed, claws instead of fingers, but I didn't look at them.

I was surrounded by oppression, I felt trapped, unable to escape. I was walking, but I could barely move. Each step forward was torture, each step was almost impossible to make. I could barely lift my feet off the ground, had to shuffle forward, slowly, ever so slowly, getting closer to the door.

A hand. I could clearly see a hand laid flat on the door. It was a left hand. I focused on it, moved closer, saw it clearly, and yet… it was smoky. Defined, but see through, as if it were made of mist, not solid. As I got closer the lines from the hand continued, I could see a forearm appear, slowly, the mist moving out and on, the forearm and then the upper arm. I stopped, I had to stop, about six feet away from the door, and watched as the mist kept forming, kept becoming a body.

A red string was tied around that forearm. It was expressly vivid in the gray and dreary atmosphere of my surroundings, stood out almost glaringly against the off-white of the mist that formed hand and arm and now body. The left leg was forming, the right leg and arm just beginning to become defined. A head was appearing above the shoulders, still hazy, but I thought I knew it.

The hand lifted from the door, just a little, then descended onto it – _THUD_ – and I really jumped that time, jerked hard by the sound that resounded through the hallway. As if called into being by the sound, a multitude of hushed whispers reached me, voices hissing and guttural sounds reaching from beyond the walls. Suddenly, it was as if my ears were unblocked, I could hear the wind outside, the roar as it raged, realized that the door was being attacked from both sides – _THUD_ – that the thuds were coming from both inside and outside. A moan rose, fell, rose again, the sound of voices in my head echoing the despair in it. The pain of it struck me, I doubled over, folding my arms around my stomach, feeling the terror chased away by the pain of entrapment, of loneliness, of oppression. I felt sick, sick to the deepest parts of myself, it felt as if my very soul were being wrenched apart, torn into pieces, and I felt so alone, so very alone. I thought I'd die if I had to be alone much longer, if I had to suffer this loneliness of not body, but spirit, I was detached from everything I loved, from everything that meant anything to me. I was trapped, unable to reach it, I could see it in front of my hands but I couldn't touch it, I could grab but it wouldn't fall into my hands.

I fell on my knees, the harsh weight of the pain and the loneliness and the despair driving me to the ground, forcing me down. The figure in front of me was becoming clearer, I knew who it was, recognized the clothes, recognized the height, recognized the curly hair that covered that head. The hand raised again and –_ THUD_ – and the wind roared outside, despairing, replied – _THUD_ – and I felt tears coursing down my cheeks, I could feel the salt on my lips as I opened them, struggling for breath.

"Kyle…" I whispered, I had to whisper, I couldn't get enough breath in me to do anything more than whisper, but the figure, hand raised, stopped. Paused, and stopped. I heard the wind outside roar louder for a moment, and then, as if given some sort of signal, quiet, become a hushed collection of near-silent whispers.

The figure turned, slowly, and as it did I felt the despair, the loneliness, the oppression, felt it all spiced with anger and disbelief and a strong sense of having been betrayed. Betrayal and despair and loneliness and I was drowning in them, drowning. I couldn't feel the carpet beneath my knees, couldn't see the walls around me, all I saw was that figure, turning towards me, slowly, so slowly, and I was shaking, I was whimpering, I was failing under all that crushing weight.

He turned to me, and I struggled to keep my eyes open, to keep my vision from succumbing to the blackness that was staining the edges, to the deep darkness that was threatening my sight. He turned, his face towards me, and I looked into his eyes…

* * *

Ike was looking in my eyes. I blinked, surprised, shocked to see him in front of me. 

The dream, I'm sure I must have made some sort of noise. He was probably just worried, just came to check on me. I shuddered, remembering with startling clarity the events of my dream, remembering the feelings, the weight. Shifting, readying myself to sit up on the bed, I noticed with a shock that Ike was at the same level as me, was actually kneeling next to me. Laying my hand flat, I felt the carpet beneath it, the hardness of wooden floorboards beneath that. Startled, I jerked upright, looked around to find myself in the hallway between the stairs and the front door. It was still dark, still night, but everything seemed clearly defined. My shirt and pants, when I looked at them, had regained their color, as had my hands.

Shaking, eyes wide, I looked at Ike. He stared at me with wide, dark eyes, looked both scared and sorrowful and desperate all at the same time. His eyes flickered, maybe without really meaning to, towards the door, and my eyes followed.

The door stood much as it had before, silent and dark. There were no thuds, there was no roar of the wind behind it.

But, and I saw this with amazing detail, there was something different. On the brass handle, wound around and around, hung a red string, its color a sharp contrast to the dark surroundings. It almost seemed to glow, hanging there, like a beacon.

I felt Ike's hands on me, shuddered, but didn't pull away as the boy pulled close, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my chest. I couldn't move, not even to put an arm on his shoulder, comfort him in any way; my eyes were focused on that bit of red, on that thin string that, I knew, would haunt me for a long, long time. I couldn't see anything else, I couldn't hear anything else. And yet, Ike's voice broke through the stupor I'd fallen into, his whisper reached my ears even though his words were muffled in my shirt, and it sent the terror in me spiking to peaks I hadn't known it could reach.

"He's trapped… he can't get out…"

* * *

The coffee cup in my hands shook; it was a good thing I'd gotten a cover for it. I hadn't slept in days, coffee was my only respite. Each time I fell asleep I dreamed the same dream, no matter where I was, although it was always stronger in the house… no, that wasn't right, it was _real_ in the house, it was truth in the house. Outside, the dreams were only memories, and I'd wake with heart pounding, but inside, they were real. Inside, I'd wake to find myself twisted upon the hallway floor, pulse racing, voice caught in my throat, fingers clenching at the carpet beneath me. It'd been almost a week, and I don't know why I'd stayed there that long. Maybe because Ike was still terrified; maybe because, each morning, when I confronted Kyle's parents, they just gave me blank looks, as if they had no idea what I was talking about. But I knew they knew, I knew because when I looked at them from the corner of my eye after I told them, I saw them exchange frightened, knowing looks. And at night, I heard the click of the lock on their door. 

And I couldn't take it any longer. The last three days I'd been chugging coffee all day and all night. I'd stayed up watching TV until the early morning, with Ike curled up next to me on the couch, sleeping fitfully, waking every now and then with a cry, only settling down when I comforted him, patting his head and telling him nothing was happening. The caffeine was getting to me, I could barely focus on anything. I knew I must look like a mess, I didn't even take the time to comb my hair anymore, and it was a wonder I even got into the shower.

That's why I was here; I couldn't take it any longer. I had to tell someone. This was real, this was happening, and something had to be done.

So I found myself at the resident coffee house, the strongest black coffee I could buy in the largest container they had held in my badly shaking hands, facing the one person I'd never truly thought of trusting anything important with.

Cartman didn't look much better than me. He didn't seem to be so focused on his coffee, but his eyes kept darting to the outside window, and he flinched each time someone opened the door and the wind started whispering. He had bags under his eyes, and there was a glint in them that he was already planning something. Or planning to plan something.

Which was great, because that's what I needed, a plan. A plan, and I was in no state to make one up. But Cartman, Cartman was always in the right state to think one up. I don't think even the world ending would be enough to make him stop plotting.

So I got him there, and, in low whispers, stuttering words, I told him. Told him what was happening. Told him what I saw when I closed my eyes, when I went to sleep. He didn't focus on me, his eyes kept flickering around, everywhere, as if he was scared to focus on anything for any length of time.

"It's t-true Cartman, it is, I-I'm not lying," I strained to get my words out clearly, to keep the caffeine from ruining them. He still wouldn't look at me, and I was desperate. I needed someone to believe me, I needed someone to help me. I wasn't crazy. "Honestly, hon-honestly, Cartman, y-you have to b-believe me, you ha-have to, I-It's happening, it r-really i-i-is-"

"I hear him," He cut me off suddenly, wide eyes focused on the window. I stopped, almost choking on my words, stared at him. He turned his gaze to me then, shakily, and repeated, "I hear him."

"W-who?" I couldn't keep the stutter out of my voice. My foot tapped uncontrollably against the floor; I thought I had an idea.

"I hear him, when the wind blows. When it gets louder, I can hear his voice. There's a lot of voices in the wind, but they're all his," Cartman's fingers tightened around the paper cup, I saw it begin to buckle slightly. "They're all his, and they're all talking to me. I keep hearing him when the wind comes up."

"Kenny." I whispered it, so quietly, but he jerked anyways. His eyes closed for a second, then he looked at me again.

"I know you're not lying," He said, swallowing tightly. His fingers shifted around the cup, his eyes began darting around again. "But why?"

I understood his question, and I'm sure I had the answer. Once Ike realized that I wanted to help, that there was something that needed to be fixed, that everything _could_ be fixed, he had been more than happy to supply me the knowledge to do so.

"I t-talked to Ike…" I started, and Cartman turned back to me, seemed ready to snort, sneer, but I shook my head, continued, "H-he knows what he's t-talking about, Cartman, he was t-there when th-the police gave his parent's K-Kyle's stuff, you kn-know, the stuff he had o-on him..."

Cartman frowned for a moment, but then nodded, conceding that Ike might actually know something. Taking a large sip of coffee, I leaned over the table, speaking low, and trying to speak fast.

"Ike said t-that Kyle had a l-letter, and h-he thinks that K-Kenny might have h-had a let-letter too…" I continued, shifting the coffee cup in my hands. "He said that i-in the l-letter Kyle wrote that h-he and Kenny wan-wanted to be b-b-buried together, b-but his p-parents didn't like the idea…"

"…so gay…" Cartman muttered, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that it was more out of habit than actual malice.

"S-so they didn't w-want to do that, and t-they had Kyle buried t-traditionally," I said, "But a f-few days a-after the funeral, something h-happened at the cemetery…"

"Supposedly it looked like someone tried to dig the jew up," Cartman's use of that word should have sounded derogatory, nasty, but instead it was almost affectionate, like a well used nickname. He turned to me, eyes finally focused, listening to what I was saying.

"Yeah, s-so the parents decided t-to move him int-into a m-m-mausoleum," I gulped, choked down another sip of the coffee that was already cool, and hoped I wouldn't stutter as much. "And since K-Kenny is i-in a diff-different cemetery…"

"They're not together…" Cartman finished, still looking at me, but his focus was elsewhere. He was thinking, I realized, plotting. "And that's why they're bothering us."

"Y-yeah, I guess… they're t-trapped, c-can't move on…" I added, sitting back in my chair and waiting for the magic to happen. It had to happen. Cartman was an ass, but his mind was brilliant when it came to making plans, and he wasn't too bad when it came to acting on them. I could see the gears in his mind turning, and let him think on it in silence.

Kenny had been contacting him, it seemed. He'd been in the wind. I remembered the day, suddenly, the day when I'd gone over to Kyle's house to stay with Ike. I remembered how the wind had acted, how suddenly I had been attacked by voices, whispers. How the wind had receded, almost as if wounded, when I couldn't understand what was being said. But Cartman could, it seemed. Cartman could hear Kenny's voice, could make it out. He knew he was being talked to, knew who it was.

And, it seemed, he was just as terrified of it as I was.

"Meet me tonight, at the parking lot behind the warehouse on Bolley," Cartman said suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts. I was about to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped me. They were hard, focused. Determined. I decided that it was in my best interest not to, this time at least, question his plan. I'd meet him at the parking lot, and let him explain things to me as things progressed. There was, after all, less of a chance of me backing out of the plan if I didn't know what it was.

"Nine?" I asked finally, deciding that at least I can ask about the time. Cartman thought for a second.

"Make it ten, we need the dark." He said, his eyes shifting over to the window again. I nodded, turning back to my coffee.

Ten it was, then.

* * *

Ten at night, and I was sitting in the passenger side seat of a beat up old delivery van. Cartman was in the driver's seat, fiddling with the dashboard controls. He had the headlights off, everything in front of us was lit only by the ghostly light of the full moon. 

A full moon, I found that funny. How lucky for us that it was a full moon. I turned in my seat to look into the back of the van. There were things back there, bags and flashlights, and what looked like a large drill. I started wondering what that was for, but then decided I'd rather not know. It was better that way; as desperate as I was, I'm sure that some part of me would rebel if I found out things wouldn't be happening… nicely. Or goodly. I wondered whether my mind was going from the lack of sleep. I could barely form sentences, I was using words in my head that didn't sound like actual words.

"I went to the mausoleum earlier." Cartman said, speaking normally. The wind outside was howling, but it sounded eager. "I visited Kahl's… room thing… I asked the lady there if the walls were soundproof. She gave me a weird look, but said they were all really thick, that they probably were."

I had a feeling that I knew what Cartman's plan was. It was very much like the plan that'd come into my head during the long nights, but I felt much better putting it all on Cartman. It was more like something he'd think up, anyways.

"Is that where we're going?" I asked, watching as Cartman turned the key in the ignition. The van started up loudly, but soon settled into a low hum, the engine idling.

"Yeah," Was his response. His foot pressed the gas pedal and the van moved forward, rolling out from behind the warehouse and onto the street. The road was dark; there weren't many streetlamps out here. It was empty; not a lot of people hung around this area after dark. Therefore, it was a perfect place for us to start.

"Where did you get the van?" I blurted out suddenly, and followed it up with "and when did you learn to drive?"Cartman turned to give me a slightly bemused look, as if he couldn't understand why, of all the things to ask, I decided to ask that.

"Me and Kenneh found the van a little while back," He explained after a moment. His eyes focused out onto the road, and I saw his hands clench around the steering wheel. "We… we used to take it out on joy rides around his house… the roads there were always empteh…"

I turned to look out the window myself; for a second there Cartman looked so incredibly sad that it made me sick. Not sick because he was sad, but sick because I'd never even considered the fact that he could be sad about this. It was all about me, I realized, in my mind, it was all about me losing my best friend, and I'd never thought about Cartman, and the fact that he and Kenny had always hung out together, and the fact that they were probably best friends too. That Cartman could be missing him as much as I missed Kyle.

What had I thought of Cartman? He'd always seemed so different from us, so… weird. Inhuman. Monstrous at times. Sadistic and nasty. He didn't seem possible of feeling anything other than perverse pleasure, but I guess I was wrong. He's human, after all, just like me. Just like all of us. I wondered if he and Kenny shared the same kind of bond that me and Kyle shared, whether they'd stayed up late at night talking about nothing, whether they felt connected in some deeper way, like brother's who'd found each other after having been lost for years.

I'd seen their relationship around us, it always seemed so hurtful, so full of put downs and nasty remarks, from both sides. Strange as it seems, I can't remember a time where they actually had a fight, and although I tried to remember, I couldn't even find a time where they argued. They had little arguments about different things, but I couldn't remember them ever getting so mad at each other that they'd refuse to talk to each other, or hang out together. They must have been close, I decided. They must have been close enough to fear losing each other over small stuff. Maybe they thought they'd be the only close friends they'd ever have.

"Did you know?" I asked quietly, almost ashamed to say the words. Cartman didn't look at me, and I tried not to look at him, but I could see him stiffen in his seat.

"I think he was afraid," Cartman replied finally, "I think… I think he was afraid of what I'd say."

I focused on my feet, not sure whether I should feel relieved that I wasn't alone in not knowing, or be saddened by the fact that both our respective best friends were scared to tell us the truth.

Cartman's harsh laugh broke into my thoughts; I turned to find him grinning in an almost maniacal way.

"And he was right, you know, Kenneh was so right. I would have chewed him out. He must have been crazeh or something. What the hell did was he thinking, going out with the Jew?" Cartman kept laughing for a long while, that harsh, horrible, painful laugh, but slowly it diminished into a choking sort of sob, until he could only manage to choke out the words, "Why didn't he trust me?"

I bit my lip, turned to the window to my right so I wouldn't have to look at him. My eyes burned; I knew the feeling. I knew the horrible emptiness that the realization brings, that comes to you the moment you find out that your best friend, the person you trusted more than anyone else in the world, couldn't trust you. Wouldn't tell you something because they didn't believe you'd accept it. It hurt, inside, hurt deep. I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against the cool glass of the window. We rode the rest of the way in silence. I didn't think I had the energy to bring anything up to Cartman; I didn't think I was stable enough to see just how much he'd been ruined by what had happened. I still didn't know just how ruined I was myself.

"We're here," Cartman said quietly. I looked, really looked, out the window, saw us standing on a road leading up to a gate. The fence to either side was high, and topped with barbed wire. The gate itself was fastened closed by a bar that lay across two supports. The bar was secured with a sturdy looking padlock. Very old fashioned, I thought, but then again it looked like an old cemetery. From where we were, however, I couldn't see any sign of a mausoleum. Truth be told, there were many trees, and they could have just been hiding the building.

"Wait here, I'll be back," Cartman grunted, twisting his large bulk around to reach something behind his seat. He came up with a hacksaw and what looked like giant wire cutters. Without another word he got out of the van, closing the door quietly behind him. I watched him put the hacksaw to the padlock, watched him pull it back and forth, the blade moving in what seemed a tiny amount every few strokes. It took him a few long minutes, but finally he put the hacksaw down. I saw him panting, saw his breath form clouds in the air in front of him. It was spring, but the night air was still cold.

The wire cutters attempted to finish the job the hacksaw started, and maybe they did, but no matter how hard Cartman tried, the padlock would come all the way off. He twisted the cutters, banged them against the padlock, but the bars of the gate were close together, and he couldn't do much of anything very well. I saw him curse, throw the wire cutters to the ground angrily. He glared at the gate, hard, and I wondered if he was deciding whether to ram the van into the gate or not. Leaning over, he picked up the hacksaw and wire cutters, and began to turn back to the van.

Suddenly, he jerked, glancing around warily. I sat up straighter, noticed that the branches of the trees nearest us were shivering; the wind was picking up. Cartman turned around, focused back on the padlock, and I turned my gaze to it as well, watching in stupefied fascination as it began to jerk, this way and that, tossed by furious gusts of wind. Its wild dance intensified; it flew against the gate once, and again, jumping and slamming over and over, until finally, with a twang of metal on metal that I more imagined than heard, it flew off, spinning over and over in the air to disappear into the darkness.

Cartman rushed forward, pushing the gate open gently to keep it from making any loud noises, then hurried back to the van. Climbing in, he tossed the saw and cutters into the back. His foot on the gas pedal, he inched the van forward, moving as slowly as he dared to keep from making too much noise. As soon as the van cleared, I saw the wind pick up again, watched in the sideview mirror as the gate, in controlled motion, swung slowly shut.

Cartman was breathing hard, but his eyes were focused on the road ahead, a road that was almost invisible to me. I could tell he was moving more by feel, by instinct, than by directions. It was a good thing he'd come here earlier, otherwise we'd be lost. But that wasn't coincidence, nothing Cartman did while putting a plan into motion was coincidence.

Unexpectedly, a building loomed out in front of us, rising above the road as if by magic. Cartman stopped the van as soon as the building appeared, eyed it critically.

"We have to go in from the back," He said quietly, whispering, "Come on."

Climbing out of the driver's seat, he made his way into the back of the van. I followed, albeit slowly, unsure of just what was expected of me. Cartman handed me a large and heavy bag, himself taking another bag, and the large drill I'd seen earlier. I eyed the drill uneasily, my stomach quivering slightly.

"Are we doing what I think we're doing?" I asked, swallowing heavily. Whatever effect my most recent cup of coffee had had was quickly wearing off.

"I'm not saying anything, otherwise your pusseh ass would be running away, and there's no way I'm doing this by mahself," Cartman responded, handing me a helmet with a flashlight fixed to it. I put it on, then followed him as he opened the van doors wide and lead the way out.

We traveled slowly, crouched low to the ground. I saw a light flash in a few of the windows as we passed, and tensed up before Cartman mouthed "night guard" to me. Finally, after crouching and running enough to nearly put cramps in my legs, we reached the back door. Cartman crept up to it, listening closely, then pulled out a small pack out of the bag he had hoisted around his shoulder. The pack unfolded to reveal a series of small metal rods, each one with a differently shaped tip. I stared, both in shock and awe, and wondered just where Cartman had gotten an entire set of lockpicks. This wasn't the time for asking questions, however, and I tried to keep watch while Cartman poked and prodded inside the lock, switching rods a few times. Finally, he was rewarded with a click. Grinning to himself, he carefully put the lockpicks away and pushed the door open.

Slowly we entered, being careful to step quietly. Cartman closed the door behind us, and for a moment all I could see was pure black. The terror came back, suddenly, I choked on it, and then the door was open again, and I could see. I turned to see Cartman staring out side, a strange look on his face. He looked at me, and I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but he shook his head. Motioning for me to follow, he led the way down the hallway.

A few turns, and we were heading up a staircase. All I'd seen as we passed were store rooms, janitor rooms, nothing important, but up here were the… tombs. I couldn't choose a better word, but that was just what they were. The rooms where the people who died were entombed, the tombs. Cartman motioned that we were in the right hallway; I saw the pride in his eyes that he'd managed to remember everything correctly. There was a series of stained glass windows on one wall, letting in some of the moon's light; the opposite wall held the doors to the tombs. Cartman moved ahead of me, and I followed, when suddenly he stopped. I didn't notice, ended up ramming into his back with a grunt. He pushed back against me, and we stumbled backwards, nearly falling over each other.

"What?" I hissed, finally catching my balance. He frowned angrily and pointed ahead, at the ceiling. I looked where he pointed, trying to focus in the half-dark. Up, in the corner where the ceiling met the far end of the wall, was a black security camera. It was nearly invisible in the dark, but with my eyes having adjusted to the half-light, I could just barely make it out.

This was horrible, I realized. This would ruin everything. I heard Cartman curse under his breath, feel the helplessness roil off of him.

Something touched me. I started, bounced into Cartman, but he'd frozen. He'd felt it too. It was just a slight touch, but then I smelled it, the smell of fresh air. A soft wind began moving through the hallway, I could feel it winding between us, picking up speed slowly. Across from us the camera shuddered. It jerked slightly, bounced where it was fastened. I watched anxiously, my breath catching. The camera shifted slightly, just a half inch, then jerked back. Again, it moved, an inch almost, and stayed there. Another pause, I felt the wind around us pick up, move faster, and the camera moved again, spinning shakily, jerkily, on its metal arm. I don't know how much time passed, seconds, minutes, but the camera was facing away now, facing down the hallway adjacent to the one we wanted to enter.

Cartman gripped my shirt and dragged me forward before the wind even had time to settle. Three doors down, and he let go suddenly, so fast that I stumbled a little before catching myself. He looked at me, hard, pointed to the camera and to the hallways. I was supposed to keep watch again, that was fine. I nodded, and he got to work, pulled out the pack of lockpicks again. He picked out a few rods, and crouched down to get in a better position. I wondered if maybe he needed some light, but he didn't say anything, and I wasn't about to interrupt him while he had that determined a look on his face.

Nervously, I glanced up and down the hallway. The wind was still blowing slightly, just a light movement around my feet, but I thought it felt almost as anxious as I did. My hands felt sweaty, and I wiped them on my pants, grimacing. I looked at Cartman, willing him silently to work faster, then glanced up and down the hall again. The camera stayed as it was focused, but I was sure that the night guard would notice the problem at any moment, notice that it wasn't pointing where it was supposed to.

A near silent click, and Cartman grunted happily. After putting the lockpicks away delicately, he pushed the door open and walked in. I followed close behind, shutting the door behind me before taking a look around. It was dark inside, and I twisted the lamp on my helmet, lighting up our surroundings. The room felt sterile, clean. Too clean. The walls looked like they were granite, or marble. At the far end was a table with a few vases of flowers on it. ON each wall were three rectangular markings, but only two of them were accompanied by small, brass plaques. Cartman ignored the one on the right, and instead focused on the left hand plaque.

He motioned me to come closer, pointed at the bag I carried. I took it off and handed it to him, wondering why we were still being quiet, still refusing to talk, even though this room was supposed to be soundproof. Fear, maybe, irrational fear, that someone might hear us talking. All I knew was that I didn't want to make a sound, didn't want to say words because I didn't want to interrupt the silence around us.

Cartman took out the large drill he'd brought with him, unrolled the power cord that was warpped around it, and plugged it into a wall socket near the table. A wall socket in a mausoleum; I guessed that maybe they'd need it to vacuum, or something, but it still seemed strange.

The drill was set on the floor, and Cartman took a hold of my bag now, opened it and pulled out a small sledgehammer and a large masonry bit. At least, I thought that was what it was, I remember it from the home improvement shows I'd watched during my nights of self-induced insomnia. Cartman fitted the bit to the drill, then turned to give me a look. I wasn't able to define, not then, it was too strange. He gave me that look, then turned on the drill.

The harsh whine-roar of the drill motor broke through the silence of the room. I jerked, and even Cartman seemed taken aback by just how loud the tool could be. Still, he barely missed a beat, positioning the bit to one corner of the marked rectangle on the wall. It bit into the granite, the whine rising as the motor worked harder. Cartman struggled to keep the drill steady, keep it from spinning out of his hands. I stood there, shining the light onto the wall, and wondering if I could actually be of any better use that night.

It turned out I could be. Cartman managed to drill four holes, two in each of the right hand corners, and two more about six inches along the marked line from each of those. Then he stood up, handed me the drill, wiped the sweat off of his face, pushed me towards the wall. My turn, I guessed, and attempted as best I could to imitate what I'd seen him do. The bit grabbed at the granite, the granite grabbed back at the bit. It took all my strength to keep the drill steady, keep it from jumping in my hands. It still managed to shake wildly, and I thought my arms would go numb from the sensation. My going was slow, much slower than Cartman's, but I managed to make six more holes along the two lines before deciding to take a break. Wordlessly I passed the drill along to Cartman, and he continued the work. Gritting his teeth, he worked hard, and I didn't know if minutes or hours passed, but he finally managed to finish drilling the holes along the lines. With a sigh, he set the drill down, and reached into his bag.

Curious, I watched him pull out a piece of charcoal, the kind used in our drawing classes. He connected the holes with diagonal lines, putting a larger mark at each spot the lines crossed. Tossing down the charcoal, he picked up the drill again, and looked up over at me. I walked forward, seeing what the intention was, and took the drill from him. Thumbing the button that turned it on, I set the spinning bit to the first dark intersection. By now, though I had grown tired, I was used to the way the drill moved, felt more confident in my use of it. There weren't many holes to make, and I was honestly proud to finish them all by myself. Still, it took a lot of my energy, and probably a lot of time as well, but Cartman, surprisingly, didn't seem annoyed by that. As soon as I stopped the drill and stepped away from the wall, he walked up with the sledgehammer, swinging it around slightly. I backed well out of his way; I didn't need to end up with cracked knee caps, or ribs, or cracked anything.

Cartman swung hard, the sledgehammer met the wall with a resounding thud. I looked closely, but nothing, not even a hairline fracture. I frowned, but Cartman shook his head, swinging the sledgehammer back up into the air. I saw the muscles in his shoulders, the ones that were visible at least, bunch up. He swung hard again, and this time I thought I heard a distinct crack. Leaning close, I saw that, indeed, a small fracture ran from one of the corner holes to one of the holes of the diagonal intersection. I grinned over at Cartman, who looked pleasantly surprised. Grunting, he lifted the sledgehammer again, sent it thudding into the wall. A few more hits, and a chunk of granite split off, falling to the ground. It wasn't very big, a few inches wide, but it was something. It meant this was working.

Cartman worked for a while longer before finally handing the sledgehammer off. There were large chunks of wall missing, but it was still mostly solid. I hoped that I'd be able to finish it; I was sure time was running short. We needed to get this done and get out of here, before someone realized what was going on.

I focused on the upswing. Good form at that point leads to good form on the way down, and good form on the way down means more energy flows out from the arms and into the sledgehammer. The head of the hammer connected with the wall, sending chunks of granite flying out into the room. One hit me in the leg, but I ignored it, raised the sledgehammer again, focused intently on my mission. Again and again I launched the hammer at the wall, and more and more of the granite broke away, littering the floor around me.

It seemed ages passed, I was so intent on my work. I'd gotten into the rhythm, found it hard to get out of it, but the sudden sight of wood stopped me in my tracks.

I'd broken through.

Cartman was beside me in a flash. He had in his hands a large chisel and a hammer, and before I'd managed to set down the sledgehammer he was at work, chiseling away the remaining edges of granite that needed to be removed. I sat down at the other side of the room, continuing to shine the light of my helmet onto the wall, and tried to catch my breath. My arms ached. My back ached. My legs felt like jelly. My eyes burned from the dust, and each time I took a deeper breath I started coughing. I wondered if my asthma would act up, was surprised it hadn't already. And I'd forgotten my inhaler as well.

Cartman was working feverishly. I shared his haste, even though I couldn't move at the moment. We needed to move on, we needed to go. We needed to get this over with.

Finally, he tossed the chisel and hammer aside, looked back at me with a look of grim determination.

The time had come. I had guessed this is what we'd be doing. Just as well he hadn't told me before, once I'd gotten caught up in the work my good boy tendencies had shut down, as I'd counted on them doing. There was no turning back now.

I glanced down at the tools scattered around the floor. The only thing not tossed aside was the pack of lockpicks. Cartman had tucked those into his pocket earlier, but the rest of the things were strewn about. I looked at him, but he frowned, waved a hand at them. True, there were more important things right now.

I moved over next to him, reached inside the hole to grab a hold on the brass bar that was attached to the side of the… coffin. We pulled almost in unison, and it slid towards us slowly. I hadn't counted on it being so heavy, but I'd forgotten just how much weight wood had. Putting our muscles, our tired, aching, near-spent muscles, into it, we managed to slide the coffin out. It slid to the floor with a thump, and we stood over it, panting. Cartman looked at me, his eyes strange, and I wondered if he was scared. I wondered if any of this frightened him. It frightened me; had I not been so tired that I could have dropped there and then and slept for a week, I was sure I'd be out of the room, running to keep from performing any other travesties. But I was that tired, and only the thought that after this was all over I could sleep was keeping me going.

Cartman made his way to the door, opened it and looked around outside. Leaving it open, he walked back to the coffin and stood at the opposite side of me. I clenched and unclenched my fingers, hoping that they wouldn't fail me, and grasped the bar on the side. Cartman grabbed hold of the one on his side, and together we lifted.

Getting out through the door was a challenge, but only because we were tired and had forgotten that there were more ways to carry a coffin. I grimaced as we twisted it around; I swore I could hear Kyle's body thumping against the side, sliding around in it. I felt my stomach twist again, and swallowed hard, tried to focus on something else.

Down the stairs we went, moving slowly, and I felt the wind moving around us, picking up some speed and flitting ahead and behind. The hallways were more difficult to navigate with the coffin, but we managed it, and found the door we'd entered through still standing wide open. We hurried outside, not bothering to crouch and hide as we went. Speed was needed now, not safety. We needed to get to the van and get out.

And we did, sliding the coffin into the back and closing the doors behind it. I climbed into the passenger side seat, and Cartman climbed into the driver's seat. The motor had been idling all this time, and for a second, just a second, I wondered if the van ran on diesel, but that thought left my mind quickly. We were back, turning around. Cartman headed towards the gate we'd entered through slowly at first, then in increasing speed. The wind, I saw, was speeding along outside, visible only by the way the tree branches shuddered and swayed as it passed them. The gate appeared ahead of us suddenly, and I watched as it was blown open by the wind. It became a blur as we passed, I barely managed to focus and it was gone.

We were out on the open road now. Cartman turned on the headlights; the night had grown darker, deeper, while we were inside.

"What time is it?" I asked, my voice sounding strange to me. It was strained, shaky. I didn't feel either, just tired.

"Two," Cartman replied, dragging a hand across his eyes. He blinked, focusing out at the road in front of us.

"Two…" I couldn't believe it. Four hours, and no one had heard us. No one had noticed the camera was pointed the wrong way. Four hours. "And now?""Cemetary number two," Cartman took a turn, roared the vans engine to speed along the expanse of road.

"Is it far?" My eyes tried to focus on our surroundings, tried to grab hold of the trees that flew by, but failed. Utterly.

"Just a few minutes," Cartman muttered back, turning again. I fell silent, my mind going into standby. I couldn't think, couldn't move.

And then we were there.

There was a fence, but no gate. Or rather, there was a gate, but it was broken, hanging off of one hinge, and shoved aside. The van easily made its way into the cemetery, and from the fact that Cartman hadn't dimmed the headlights, I decided that there was no guards on duty here. The cemetery was pretty small, and Cartman didn't drive far before stopping the van and putting it into park. "All right, let's go," He climbed out of the van, and after a moment I managed to force my legs to get me out too. I wondered at his energy, wondered that he wasn't falling over tired. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or maybe he'd gotten more sleep in the past nights than I had. Or maybe both. I walked around to the back of the van, where Cartman had opened the doors and was rummaging around.

He stood up finally and handed me a shovel. I blinked, looked down at it, puzzled. Saw that he had one of his own. And then I realized what we were about to do.

Wordlessly, Cartman led the way, and I followed, thankful that this time, at least, I wasn't the one leading the way. That I wasn't the one calling the shots and deciding what to do or not do. I wondered why I had ever wanted to be the person who decided what was going to happen; it was much easier and less of a hassle to let someone else decide those things.

Kenny's grave wasn't far from the path. It was marked with a generic looking headstone, with generic looking carvings on it. Name, date of birth. No date of death, but I guess that with Kenny, you could never be sure. He died once a week. Or, rather, he had died once a week. Now, as far as I knew, he was dead, and staying dead.

Cartman dug his shovel into the ground, and I followed suit. The shovel dug in, but it was tough. The ground still hadn't heated much after winter's frost, and it took me two tries to get a hole the size of a basketball dug out. Cartman, I saw wasn't having much more luck, was panting and grunting with the exertion. But there wasn't anything else to do; we had to dig.

Deeper, and deeper. Once more I lost track of time, once more I got lost in my task. The dirt began piling up around me, the shovel kept digging into the ground, deeper and deeper. I panted, my hands were sweating bad and I was having a hard time keeping a good grip on the shovel handle, but I kept at it, kept forcing the steel head of the shovel down, kicking it to dig in deep, ripping it up to pull the mound of dirt out of the hole I was now standing in.

We, that is. Cartman had managed to keep up with me, although he was falling a little behind. He panted harder than I did, his arms were wobbly as he pulled up the dirt. I thought about teling him to stop, to take a break, but the look on his face scared me. The pure determination, the sheer force of will, it made his face a mask, froze his features into a feral snarl. He was going to do this, he was going to dig Kenny out, he was going to go all the way.

I turned my eyes away from him, I couldn't watch him any longer. There was something raw there, something scary. Something I recognized. I dug the shovel in again, pulled it out. Again, and again, and more dirt piled up around us.

We weren't more than four feet deep when my shovel hit something. I frowned, thinking it might have been a rock, and stuck it in at a different spot. The shovel hit something again, and I looked up at Cartman. He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged, and began digging feverishly. We were close.

Slowly, the coffin was revealed, a dark coffin, almost as dark as the dirt that surrounded it. We had to dig deep at the sides, dig down to where the bars at the side were. Cartman climbed out of the hole once we'd gotten that deep. I waited, anxiously, breath coming fast, until he returned. He tossed down the end of a rope, and I tossed up my shovel. Taking the rope I tied the end to the bar on one side. Once that was done I turned around to see another rope tossed in from the other side. That one was attached to the other bar, and I climbed out of the hole.

Cartman stood on the opposite side, holding the rope tightly in his hands. I leaned down to pick up the rope lying on my side, pulled it taught. My eyes met Cartman's,; he nodded, and we both began to pull. The coffin was seated deep in the ground, the dirt was holding it fast. I could feel my muscles shivering, my arms were wobbling with the effort, but I only pulled harder. Grunting, I took a step back, then another. The pressure on the rope didn't lessen, but I kept pulling it, kept pulling even though I felt the rope fibers begin digging into my skin, biting deep.

And then something let go. I felt the rope move, towards me, heard a strange sound, deep and earthy, as the coffin was freed of the dirt surrounding it. Pulling hard, I stumbled backwards, trying to keep my footing on the rough ground. There were stones and hills of dirt everywhere, but I managed to keep from falling over somehow. The coffin was at the top then, and Cartman motioned for me to keep pulling. I strained against the rope, felt the coffin catch on the edge of the hole. Cartman rushed forward, pushing it from the other side, and it slid up and onto level ground.

I dropped the rope, opening my aching hands to stare at the lines that criss-crossed my palms. There was blood staining most of them, and they stung horribly. I wiped them on my pants, grimacing in pain, then stepped towards the coffin. Cartman was wiping his hands on his shirt, and I saw the dark streaks where his hands had been. I wasn't alone in my pain.

Once again, without a word, too tired to speak, or to think probably, we grabbed hold of the bars on opposite sides of the coffin, and made our way over to the van. Kenny's coffin slid in next to Kyle's, and, just as before, the shovels stayed behind. There was no time.

I climbed in painfully at the passenger's side, sat down and felt my legs go limp. My eyes were sliding shut, but I forced them open, turned to look at Cartman. He was hunched over the steering wheel, head on his arms, breathing hard.

"Where to now?" I asked, my voice hoarse. He stayed with his head down for a long moment, then sat back in his seat and put the van into gear.

"Stark's," He answered, his voice as ragged as mine. I didn't question it; somehow, it seemed right.

The wind outside picked up, the trees waved their branches around us as we headed out of the cemetery. Cartman wasn't driving fast now, but slowly, carefully. He kept blinking, narrowing his eyes, trying to keep his focus on the road. I didn't blame him, I could barely keep my own eyes open. To keep from falling asleep, I started counting trees. And then I started trying to just focus on the trees. And then, quite shockingly, I noticed the lightening of the sky out to the east. It was just a slight lightening, just a lighter blue-black instead of the darker blue-black in the west, but even as I watched it lightened more, because less dark. I glanced over at Cartman, wondering if he noticed, but he was so focused on the road that I didn't feel like interrupting him. It was probably better, I wouldn't want him to start going faster and risk taking a wrong turn, or taking a right turn but taking it too fast.

Even so, the trip to Stark's Pond wasn't that long. Cartman had taken a road I hadn't even known existed, one that didn't seem very well traveled. We drove up to the lake from the opposite side of the hill, far away from view of the street. Good, we'd need the cover, I thought. It wouldn't do for someone on the street to see us hauling coffins out of a delivery van.

Another part of Cartman's plan, no doubt. He knew exactly what to do. I was finding myself with more respect for him than at any other point in time.

We got out of the van just ten feet from the water's edge. I looked around, noticing that the sky in the east was less blue and more bluish-whitish-yellow. Dawn was coming, and the clouds on the horizon were colored yellow and pink on the underside.

I turned to Cartman, saw him head down to the water and pull a rowboat up onto the shore. He turned to me, looked at me for a long moment.

"We need to take them out there," he said, without pointing. There was no need, at this shore there was only one meaning for "out there".

"How?" I wondered; two coffins wouldn't fit on the rowboat, especially with the two of us on board. Even with one it would be a tight fit.

"We need to put them in one coffin," Cartman said, and with such a normal tone that I almost found myself agreeing with him.

"Yeah, that's- what? Wait, what?" I stopped, stared at him in disbelief. "What… one coffin? Are you serious?""Yeah, Stan, I'm seriousleh," Cartman headed towards the back of the van without waiting to see if I followed. I did, of course, but only to stare at him some more.

"You want us to put them in one coffin? Cartman, they've been dead for weeks! They're probably all… decomposed… or something," I was getting chills just talking about it, and I hadn't even started thinking about my words. My stomach was turning somersaults, and I wasn't sure if I could keep it calm for long.

"We don't have time to haul these things out there one by one," Cartman grunted, pulling at Kenny's coffin. It slid out, almost too easily, and thudded to the ground. "And besides, they said they wanted to be together."

"Yeah, but…" I balked, the idea was just too… wrong. Too wrong, it felt weird. It felt sickening. I wasn't sure I could stand for much longer.

"Stan, we made it this far," Cartman turned to me, held my gaze. He looked tired, very tired, but he also looked firm, resolute. He wasn't going to back out of this now. I looked away, looked at the lake, thought of the street beyond it, thought of how people were probably starting to realize what had happened, if they hadn't already. We were running out of time, and Cartman was right, we had made it this far already. I turned back to him, face grim, and nodded.

Together we pulled Kyle's coffin out of the van. For a moment we stood there, looking down at them.

"Which one do you think is heavier?" I asked, and Cartman looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Kenneh's, its oak." He said. I nodded, it sounded all right. And true. It probably was true.

I just wanted to get this part over with.

"Try Kyle's coffin, see if it opens," Cartman commanded, heading towards the back of the van. I grimaced, looking down at the pine box, then at Cartman's back, but no help was coming. With a deep breath, I crouched down and pulled at the top. My fingers were well hooked around the edge, but it wouldn't budge.

"Try this," Cartman said, leaning over to hand me a crowbar. He had another in hand, and as soon as I took the one offered he turned away to work on Kenny's coffin.

I looked at the crowbar in my hand, then down at the coffin at my feet. It had to be done, I guessed. It had to, and, looking up at the rapidly lightening sky, I realized it had to be done soon.

Shoving the forked end of the crowbar under the edge of the lid, I pushed down with all my weight. For a long moment there was silence, and then _crack_ the wood separated. Pulling out the crowbar, I reinserted it farther along, repeated the process. After a few more tries the top of the coffin was ready to open.

I lay the crowbar down beside me, and crouched down next to the coffin. Taking a deep breath, ready to be assaulted by foul air, the smell of rotting flesh, I gripped the edges of the lid and pulled it open.

There was a smell in the air, but it was musty, wet and dusty, but not rotting. No foul odors met me, no strange smells wafted up. I stared down at Kyle, stared at his pale face, his curly hair. He looked as he had the day he was buried, like he had the day we'd found him on the shore of the lake. He looked… perfect, not like a person who'd been buried for two weeks. I was entranced; there was no way this was possible, but I saw it. Right before me.

I turned to face Cartman, saw him standing over Kenny's coffin in much the same stupefied manner as I had stood over Kyle's. Walking over I saw why; Kenny, just as Kyle, wasn't touched by decay, or by anything. He was whole and undeniably just the same as he was when we found him on the beach.

And they were both very, very dead.

It seemed like a strange revelation at the moment, but it came. They were dead. And I was glad, I was very glad, that I was exhausted, because I couldn't react the way I would have had I been in a right state of mind. I was too tired to care, at that moment, too tired to really care that they were dead. This was all a game. One more goal to accomplish and it's over, won, and done with.

"Into Kenny's coffin, then," I said quietly. Cartman nodded.

"I"ll… I'll move him over… a little…" He said, but didn't move at first. He stared down at Kenny, then turned, looking at Kyle. Staring at him. "They're dead."

"Yeah," I said, looking at him curiously.

"Yeah… all right…" Cartman moved slowly, painfully I realized, to crouch at the side of Kenny's coffin. Gingerly, hesitantly, he reached out, rolled Kenny over a little and shoved against one wall of the coffin. I watched him do all that, and suddenly realized my part in this. My eyes went to Kyle, my mind went to the fact that I'd have to somehow get him into Kenny's coffin. Maybe carry him, even, as it seemed the easiest.

The somersaults my stomach performed threatened to send it up my throat.

"You're not throwing up, Stan!" Cartman growled at me; he'd seen the look on my face, recognized it for what it was. "You're not, just get Kahl over here and let's get this over with."

I nodded, swallowing hard, and shuffled over to Kyle's coffin. Crouching down, I reached out, slid my arms under his back. He was cold, very cold, my arms almost burned with the cold that seeped off of his body. I grimaced, held back a whimper, and lifted him up out of the coffin. He was lighter than I remembered, and longer. I didn't remember Kyle being this tall, but I guess I didn't really pay that much attention to it. Strange.

I made it to Kenny's coffin, walked around to the other side so that I could put Kyle in the right way. It was hard, holding him, hard walking with him in my arms. He didn't weigh a lot, but it wasn't physical weight that made all the motions hard.

I crouched down, lay Kyle as gently as I could next to Kenny. They overlapped a little, but miraculously still managed to fit into the coffin. Cartman let go of Kenny, reached out to shut the coffin lid, probably unable to look at them much longer, but I stopped him.

Kenny's right arm was bare; he was buried in what he'd been wearing, no one had taken the time to dress him in anything different. He was supposed to come back to life soon, after all. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, his funeral.

Around Kenny's bare right arm was tied a length of red string. Hands shaking, I untied it, unraveled it. I could see the long, red line down Kenny's arm, see just how deep in it went. It was darker red on the inside, and in the very deepest part I could see glints of white, of bone. My stomach tried invading my throat again, but I fought it off, reached out and grabbed hold of Kyle's left arm. The line on his arm was hard to see, it had been stitched, colored over, made nearly invisible. I knew it was there. I took their arms and positioned them as close together as I could, almost perfectly aligning the cut lines. Then I took the red string, and wound it around their arms, bound them, joined them together again.

As soon as I pulled away Cartman closed the lid. His hands were shaking, I could see them shake as he reached for a hammer lying in the grass near his knees. He picked it up, pounded in the nails that had come up when he'd pulled open the coffin's lid.

Finished, he dropped the hammer to the ground and looked at me. I nodded; I knew the routine by now. We grabbed the bars on the sides of the coffin, heaved it up. I could barely hold my end, barely hold the coffin and keep on my feet at the same time. I was so tired, aching all over, but I had to do this. This was the last step, this was the final part. After this everything would be all right.

We'd just managed to get the coffin into the rowboat when the sound of sirens reached us. I froze, staring around, wide eyed. Cartman jerked, looked towards the street. We stayed still, for maybe seconds only, but it seemed like hours. The sky was growing a light blue, a bright line of whitish-yellow on the eastern horizon.

"Come on," Cartman and I moved to action, shoved the rowboat off of the shore desperately. We pushed it out as far as we could, and still be able to climb inside. My pants were soaked through by the time I sat in the boat, and Cartman wasn't better off, but each of us grabbed one oar and started paddling for all we were worth.

Stark's Pond, in most places, wasn't very deep. The deepest of the so-called "safe" areas was around 15 feet deep, no more, but right smack in the center of the lake the ground dropped, and drastically. It was this part of the lake that never froze through completely during the winter, this part of the lake where the fisherman pulled out all their gigantic catfish and bass. It was this part of the lake we were rowing for, and I'd known it as soon as I'd seen the boat.

The sirens were getting closer, but not quickly. A good thing, that. We could get out to where we wanted to be, get the coffin into the water before anyone knew anything, before anyone could do anything to try and get it out.

The oars dug deep into the water. Cartman grunted with each pull, I panted heavily, felt the air drag against the back of my throat like sandpaper. I wondered if I'd be able to talk after this, if I'd be hoarse for days.

Cartman stopped rowing, tapped me on the shoulder. We were there, at the center. It was time.

I don't know how we managed it; the laws of physics should have been against us, gravity should have been working to pull us in as well, but somehow, someway, it didn't. Cartman and I lifted the coffin, with all its heavy, dead weight. We slid it off the side of the rowboat, and into the water. For a moment it hung there, floated, just at the top, and I worried that we'd have to poke at it with our oars to get it down. Then bubbles started floating up from its bottom, and slowly, so slowly, it began to sink.

I sat next to Cartman, watched it go. Watched it sink, little by little, bubble by bubble. And, for the first time in weeks, I felt calm. I felt peace. I felt the terrible burden lift off of my shoulders. I could have cried; I did cry, I realized, I was crying, I could taste the tears on my lips. The coffin was gone, vanished into the deep, dark depths. I slid to the bottom of the rowboat, folded my arms on one of the seats and lay my head upon them. I was tired, so tired, bone weary and ready to fade away. I felt so free. Not even the sound of the sirens, louder, much louder now, could change that. Behind me I heard Cartman laugh, explosive and freeing laughter.

Kyle and Kenny had their wish; they were joined, now, together, for all eternity.


	24. Examination

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Thank you everyone! I really appreciated the reviews, and I'm happy to hear you've enjoyed the last theme. It was a monster, truth.

Anyways, after a sudden and unexpected hiatus, I am slowly getting back in the groove of writing. Apparently, I can only write when I am attending school…. X3 haha…

Here it is, the next them. I hope you enjoy it, its slightly abstract, but hopefully not so much that you don't understand what's going on.

Updates for Lovesong and A Neopolitan Love Story will be following sometime this week. :D

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 24: Examination**

It was entirely unpredictable, uncertain and unwilling. It was rash and bold and a little stupid. It was more than what had been expected, not enough as wanted, just enough to leave a sense of emptiness behind.

The fact remained, after all was said and done, that it was, indeed, unwilling. And rash. And more than a little stupid, actually.

But mostly unwilling.

The sunlight breaking past the window shades was just strong enough to accent the tossed clothes and tangled sheets. The air was musty, sweaty, heavy with stale passion and fresh regret; and slowly beginning to fill with anxious cigarette smoke and a slightly traumatized silence.

Who was first? Who was last? Who started it all, who ended it? Empty questions with emptier answers, since it really didn't matter. Did either of them want it? Did either of them not want it? Just how unwilling had it been, and was there any willingness in it, even if neither one of them spoke that one syllable that would have ended it all?

If silence was the answer from both sides, did it acknowledge acceptance, or represent a positive answer? Or should it still be taken as a negative, a stop sign, warding off closer contact?

Was this the way intimacy was, an anxious touch and nervous breath? An unwillingness to pause because that would mean doubting what was happening, and that was unacceptable. It was unacceptable to doubt what was happening because if one doubted then the other would do, and so even if both doubted neither showed it, neither knowing that the other doubted the same.

But even with doubt coloring the moment, was that enough to make it unwilling? To make it uncertain, for sure; to make it rash, of course; but unwilling? Wouldn't unwilling need to put in a hand to try to stop it? Wouldn't unwilling require a conscious effort to reverse the actions happening? Wouldn't it require an attempt to make known that this was not right?

And was that it? That there was an unwillingness, but not an idea that this was not right? Neither had doubted that point, had they? The doubt had come from the actions, not the meaning. The meaning had been clear, and accepted. That was never a point to ponder; it was the actions that had created this air of anxious solitude, that had driven a wedge of uncertainty between their two points. Was it the actions that had created the unwillingness? Was it the motions that fostered the feeling? Where before there had been closeness and a sense of unity, now there was separation and a fear. A fear of what? The meaning was true, and real. And purposeful, and right. And true, once again. That wasn't changed, that wouldn't change, ever, in their minds, would it? This was true, and right, because it was. Because it existed, there, between them, drawing them together, lines crisscrossing the space between them; it was there, there was no denial of that point. No change of mind on the fact that there was more than an average familiarity between them.

Right had no place in this problem. Right was not what was under scrutiny in this moment.

Willingness, want. Need. Was any of that related to the moment? If there was unwillingness, if it existed in those actions, could be felt in those touches, it had to stem from something other than a doubt of whether those actions were right, and acceptable. Want, was this wanted? Eventually, yes, there was no doubt about that. These actions would be wanted, accepted eagerly, at some time. Needed even, at some point in the future, when the half-inch of separation would be too far away, and something needed to cross the line that divided them, body and soul, and pull together forces that existed within them.

But now?

Rash. And bold.

And definitely, definitely, more than just a little stupid.


	25. Fierce

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Thank you **Zakuyoe**,**Ahm**,**Daughter Deception**, and **Rainbow-man**:D LOVE YA!

Welllll and here we have another weird one. I was going to do a different idea first, but that one needs to be written better. This one is another one of those I like to write, so if you've been keeping up with the 100 list, then you should know what to expect… x3

WHOOHOO! NUMBAH 25! Do you know what that means? That means we only have 75 more to go! KICK ASS! Thank you everyone for reviewing and checking it out. I appreciate it all very much.

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 25: Fierce**

They tell me I'm wrong. They say I don't know what I'm doing. But they've got it all turned around. They see my bruises but funny enough they never seem to notice yours. It's a sick world, ain't it, a sick sick world, but all I know is I can't wait to see you come in at night, seven o'clock and breathing whiskey into the apartment air, with that scowl on your face that seems to be a permanent addition these days. It's been a while since I've seen you wear anything else on it other than blood, but I'm sure I'm no better myself. I'm sure I've lost most of my facial expressions somewhere along the way, but it doesn't matter as much as it should. It's like I'm on this wave, this giant monster of a wave cresting and cresting and it's just never coming down, and I can't seem to come down from this high that I get from you, and you can't either, I know it, you come in and you're piss drunk and you're just ready to try and tear me apart and sometimes you nearly do and those nights, those are the best nights, the best, amazing nights ever, even if neither one of us can move too well in the morning afterwards.

Funny, isn't it, how it all started? It was just a slap first, and then a few punches wound their way in and then, and then the days started coming where you just wouldn't stop rushing me and I just couldn't stop boxing your ears till you had twin lines of red, red blood going down your neck and staining your jacket and your shirt and making you look so heavenly horrible, and then you said the words, with that smart ass half grin half scowl that you were already starting to wear, and you said them, said "You know, blood makes good lube, as long as its fresh" and you've always been so sarcastically offensively pornographic but suddenly everything just seemed to fall into place, and everything made sense from then on, right then, and that's really when I realized that nothing ever had before.

And now we're here, years behind us and people trying to talk us apart left and right just because they don't think it's healthy, the way we're going, and maybe some ways it's not, but I wouldn't change a thing, not even if I ended up in the ER again, I wouldn't change a thing. And I've got people telling me I don't see the wrong in it because I'm so used to it, and it doesn't seem to matter to them that I never saw the wrong in it, if there is a wrong in this, I've always gotten this rush through my brain each time I felt that pain and knew that I was giving back just as much, and just as good, but only with you, and maybe that's it, maybe that's the reason that makes it all so right, because I know I'm the only person you'll let lick the blood off your lips and you know that you're the only person I'd let lick the blood off of mine.

We got something they don't see, here, between us, we got something that they'll never be able to see. It's hard enough to see it ourselves, ain't it? But we've ruined our whole lives for it, and honestly I don't know just how happy you are with that fact but I know I wouldn't trade all the Masters at Harvard that God could send me for this, they're not worth half a minute of being in your company, just being right next to you and feeling you breathing next to me, it's worth more than anything in this world.

You're coming in through the door now, later than usual and more soused as well, which I don't mind, I'll just watch you as you fumble with the lock like you usually do, sitting here on the half-broken duct taped chair that's the only thing we have left from the earlier days, sitting here with my arms crossed on the chair back, watching you throw your jacket on the floor and run your hand through the hair you'd cut short yourself, all ragged and choppy because you can't really hold either the scissors or the mirror straight after five bottles of beer, but you did it anyway. You stink like motor oil and sweat and heavy cigarette smoke and alcohol but it's almost exotic on you, like you were born to smell like that and I shift on the chair because it's just so you it's impossible, really impossible, and it's just one of those things about you that's keeping me up on this high-cresting wave. I'm grinning now, but maybe more on the inside than the outside, because you take one look at me and growl something just barely understandable, your words heavy with red-necked hick accent, hailing back to those better days when hicks were cattle ranchers and not drunks that occasionally crashed their pickups into convenience stores and I say something back that I don't even remember saying a few seconds later, but it's one of those things I know could set you off, and it does.

I'm seeing stars before I even move, and what I think is my vision going black is actually the apartment floor and my shadow and there's the heavy taste of metal in my mouth but I barely get the chance to taste it and then your hands got me by my shirt and you're hauling me back on my feet. I twist around to look you in the face, you with your hands on my arms as if you're trying to twist them off of me and I'm looking in your eyes now, deep past the drunken haze that's clouding them, but all I see past it is a deep, deep calm colored by emotions that are a whole one-eighty from what you have going on outside and I'm grinning inside again because I know they're wrong, I know they're all wrong, and I get my fingers in your hair, and that's not easy, and yank back as hard as I could to get you to stop shooting your mouth off at me and I kiss you, hard and rough, and push your face into mine to make you kiss me back, and you do, even with your fingers digging holes into my arms, you're kissing me back and I'm bursting inside I'm getting so high I can't see the bottom anymore. I can taste the whiskey mixed with the ashtray flavor of your cigarettes and I bite your tongue when you shove it in my mouth, bite it hard and taste copper mix in with the whiskey and the smoke and you push me back, I'm stumbling over the fallen chair and landing hard on the floor, and I'm laughing as you straddle me, laughing as my fist meets your face so hard you nearly fall off of me, I'm laughing because you have that look in your eyes, and the bones of my arm are creaking painfully as you twist it in on itself, and I can see that it's going to be another amazing night.


	26. Almoner

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Oh man, broke 26. You know what that means… that means only 74 to go! : D HAHAHA

This one was interesting, and yet, it came so quickly. I lost my list of words that I had picked out, and I had to random generate some more. And this one decided to strike my fancy today. :3

A note: There is a Jewish Holiday called Purim, during which one of the customs is giving charity to the poor. Put that together with the word definition, and you should get it. It, meaning, you know, It.

Thanks to all the reviewers I've had. I hope you continue to enjoy these shorts. I can't promise regular updates, but I do promise to finish this to 100.

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Theme 26: Almoner**

**n. a person whose function or duty is the distribution of alms on behalf of an institution, a royal personage, a monastery, etc.**

Your mother was the one who'd dragged you over, maybe in the hopes that your presence would help the situation. It's not the parents she's worried about; the father isn't home anyway and that fact alone makes the mother more pleasant and accepting of your arrival.

So it's you and your mother, standing on the sagging front porch and waiting for the door to open; her with a large bag in each hand, you with a cardboard box weighing down your eleven year old arms with its weight. She is smiling widely. You have spent the past few moments watching spiders crawl across the front window and biting your lip.

The door opens. You hadn't noticed but your mother has already gone in, and you're being beckoned inside as well. You enter, struggling slightly with the box, and follow the two women back towards the kitchen. There is a noise from the stairs, and although you glance quickly in their direction, you see nothing.

The battered tea kettle is on the stove, whistling softly, and the mothers sit down at the table. The bags are being sorted through, and you're told to put the box down by the pantry. The floorboards creak threateningly as you cross them, and you nearly drop the box as you reach your destination. Straightening up you stare down at it for a long moment. Your mother calls your name, and you turn to see the two women watching you.

You know what you're supposed to do now, and, shuffling your steps, you head across the dangerously creaking floorboards and through the doorway towards the front room. The stairs are silent as you pass them, as empty as they were when you had looked earlier. Stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets you cross the floor to the front door, avoiding looking at anything in the room, as if your look could set fire to the sagging couch or break the ancient TV set.

The front door is slightly open; it moves with each gust of wind, creaking slowly a few inches inward, then back to almost closed. You pause for a long moment, watching it move. One of the spiders from the window is on this side of the door, spinning a web between the upper, still as of yet unbroken panes of the doors small window. The door swings slowly inward again, and you hook it with the toe of your shoe and shove it further open before it could close.

You want to go home, but you know you can't leave before your mother does. And besides, there he is, sitting on the edge of the porch. He's staring out away from the house, and, most likely, across the tracks that run not far from it, and you wonder if he'd even notice if you walked right past him. For a moment you waver on the doorjamb, thinking, but even as you wonder you know you wouldn't be able to do that to him.

So you walk over and sit down next to him, ignoring the fact that he's trying hard to ignore the fact that you are there. You stare out in the same direction he's looking, trying to see just what he's seeing out there. There's not much to see between the house and the tracks. And beyond them there is just the hint of a road and the distant outlines of roofs. You find it strange that no matter what the weather is like, on this side of the tracks there is always a haze in the air, almost like a low lying cloud covering everything.

You look at him finally, or rather towards him. First just out of the corner of your eye, just a flicker, then back, and back to him again. You pull your hands out of your jacket pockets and fiddle with the hem for a moment. Look back at him again.

This time he's looking at you, just a little. His head slightly tilted towards you, his eyes focusing on your face. You meet them, trying, somehow, without words explain, just like every year. Explain that this isn't really your idea, it isn't. Explain that it is your mother who does this, your mother who volunteers to do this every year. Explain that it is just that time of the year when your family is expected to do this.

You want to tell him, want to explain, but you can't. You can't explain without using the words charity, and donations, and poor. Poor. You can't say it to him, not today. Not on this day of the year.

So you don't. Instead, you search his eyes, trying to find something to justify the horrible, burning guilt that is sitting just inside your abdomen. You want him to hate you, right then. You want him to utterly and wholly hate you, in a way that'll make it all right to feel horrible doing this.

You can't find the hate. You can't find anything in his pale eyes except shame. Shame, and disgust, and it makes you feel guilty anyway, just not in the way you want to feel guilty. Shame and disgust and all because behind it, hidden deep, deep down, there is gratitude. Gratitude that, at least for a little while, his family won't have to worry about food; for a little while, clothes won't have to be a problem. For just a tiny bit of time, his family does not have to hurt so bad.

And you know he doesn't want to be grateful for that, doesn't want to be grateful for hand me downs, for discarded extras no one else needs. He doesn't want to be grateful, because somehow, in some strange way, it would make him grateful to be poor, and he has never been grateful for that.

You want to tell him you understand; instead, you put your hand into your pocket and pull out a book of matches. Silently you hold them out to him. He holds your gaze a moment longer, then drops his eyes to the small booklet in your hand. His hand lifts to yours, and there's just a slight tremble in his fingers as he takes the matches. Slowly he turns the booklet over in his hand, as if wondering what its purpose is. Opening the flap, he pulls one match off, flips the booklet over and pulls the match down the black strip. His hand is shaking, and the match skids, leaving a trail of white over the black. He pauses for a moment, twitching the paper match in his fingers, then tries again. This time there is a spark, a flame springs to life at the tip.

You sit and watch as the yellow-orange moves down the length of the match towards his fingers. As it comes close to touching them he tosses it away, a reddish-orange spot somersaulting through the air. Another match in his fingers, now, and with a quick snap of his wrist he makes it light. It burns down, and he tosses it away as well. Flick. Burn. Toss.

Flick.

Burn.

Toss.

After a while your mother exits the front door, and though she smiles towards you, and maybe even him, she says nothing as she walks away, not expecting you to follow.

He's gone through to the last match by then, and as he tosses that one away you reach into your pocket and pull out a fresh book of matches. He takes it without looking at you, continuing his small ritual, and you sit, and you watch, and you say nothing. Long past the time when his father stumbles home. Long past the time when dark comes and night falls.

And while the stars start to shine abovehead, your eyes close to sleep with the vision of a dozen tiny suns burning softly into oblivion on the ground before you.


	27. Ablation

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

EXPERIMENTAL CHAPTER ALERT

Talk about… interesting…? Let me know what you think here. We're reading a lot of Hemingway, and his style is seriously intriguing. I can't pull it off yet, I don't think, but I tried to here. It was a bitch. And a half.

OH HEY since this is such a short chapter, and since you'll probably feel unfulfilled, emotionally and such, why not go check out **Genis Aurion's ****Fatalize**, and leave him a review since both he and his stories are just so damn awesome. :D

Do you like crackpairings? Give **A Neapolitan Love Story** a try! If you're reading this I'll assume you are liking the KxK, right? And **ANLS** HAS KxK in the mix! Try it out! (CxKxK and not the C you're thinking about x3)

So have fun! And enjoy!

***

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

***

****

**Ablation  
n. 1. ****the removal, esp. of organs, abnormal growths, or harmful substances, from the body by mechanical means, as by surgery.**

"It's not that big a deal." Kyle said. They stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to turn green. Cars drove past in front of them to the left and right.

Kenny stayed silent. A car drove by close to the curb, and he took a step back. Kyle shook his head, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

"It really isn't." Kyle added. The light changed as a car drove across the white lines in front of them. Kenny started across the street without responding. After a moment Kyle followed, looking at his back as he crossed. A car turned behind him.

"You're going to be put under," Kenny said as Kyle caught up to him on the other side. He looked ahead of him at the sidewalk they were walking down.

"That's normal." Kyle replied. He shrugged, looked at Kenny. They walked down the sidewalk towards the store at the corner. Posters hung in the windows and a dog sat by the doorway with its leash tied to a signpost.

"What they're doing isn't normal," Kenny said as he pushed open the door. They walked inside with the bells strung above the door frame ringing. The store was nearly empty. The clerk behind the register didn't look up from her magazine.

They walked down the aisle to the freezers in back and looked at the ice cream.

"It is, in this case," Kyle said finally, and opened the freezer door. "What flavor do you want?"

"I don't want any." Kenny turned away from the freezers and began looking through the packs of cookies on the shelf opposite them. Kyle stood with the freezer door open looking at the ice cream.

"You said you wanted some." He insisted, leaning into the open freezer.

"I don't anymore." Kenny answered, sliding a pack of cookies off the shelf and under his coat.

Kyle closed the freezer door without taking anything out. He turned to look at Kenny but he had moved down into the next aisle and was looking at bottles of olive oil. Kyle walked after him without looking at anything and put his hands back in his jacket pockets.

"They need to take it out," Kyle said to his back. He waited for a response a moment, then repeated. "They need to take it out."

"I heard you." Kenny took a bottle of olive oil and put it on another shelf, then turned and headed further down the aisle. Kyle took the bottle and put it back in its place.

"I don't know why this bothers you so much," Kyle walked up to Kenny and around him so he could look him in the face. "Why does this bother you so much?"

"They're going to cut you," Kenny said, stepping back and looking over Kyle's head.

"That's obvious." Kyle said.

"You'll be less." Kenny added.

"I'll be less one broken organ." Kyle responded. Kenny looked at him.

"Don't try to be funny." He moved past and turned the corner around the aisle. Kyle followed a few spaces behind.

"What will you do without it?" Kenny said, touching a jar of strawberry jam. He touched another of grape jam.

"Keep on living." Kyle answered, picking up a jar of honey and checking the date at the bottom.

"And you can't with it?" Kenny asked. He took the jar of honey away from Kyle and put it back on the shelf and continued down the aisle.

"Not how it is now." Kyle went after him down the aisle and around towards the register. "Are you buying anything?"

"No"

The clerk did not look up as they left and the bells above the door frame rung. The dog by the door looked at them but did not move.

"You'll come back." Kenny stopped at the corner and looked at Kyle.

"I won't be going anywhere." Kyle said and looked at Kenny.


	28. Eleven

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

**Genis Aurion's ****Fatalize.** It's good stuff, trust me. :D

SO YEAH. Another shorter one shot, but hey, they can't all be Joined-Epic, right? Right.

But seriously people, reviews would be awesome. Like, they would be seriously kick ass, you know? On any of these, really. I… I love you, you know that, right? Right?

Thaaaank you Sebastian! :D Hey, you never know… if the right word comes along and strikes my fancy, I just might go ahead and do that… Not sure if I could ever match up to Joined with anything else I write… D:

SO LIKE REVIEW AND GET COOKIES

* * *

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

* * *

**Eleven**

_One_ – the sigh, not long enough to be aggravated, not short enough to be just plain exhale – _two_-_three_ – the routine raking of fingers through his hair – _four-five-six_ – the straightening of his lips into a hard line – _seven-eight_ – the random wandering of his eyes over familiar scenery – _nine_ – the reforming of his lips into a slight curve – _ten _– the sticking of his hands in his pockets – _eleven _– finally, the focusing of his eyes on what was there around him.

Eleven. Eleven seconds until his eyes finally lose that wistful look. Eleven seconds until he doesn't look like he is ready to jump right back. Eleven seconds until he seems fine with the fact that he is back and whole again. Eleven seconds until he doesn't look disappointed that he is no longer there.

You had picked up on it quite a while back, although you don't know why it had struck you as odd such a long time ago. There had always been something off, you think, something strange with him each time he returned. You began to watch him when he came back, trying to discover just what it was in him that had begun bothering you.

He had a routine when he came back. The sigh – at first you thought it was just his first breath back, just breath-exhalation of living air, but it was too regular; it always followed his first moment back. It always happened. Then the raking of his fingers through his hair – somehow, he never managed to avoid that one; the first physical act he did after his return. The straightening of his lips – that had attracted your attention before, and now it attracted it more so, if for different reasons. All the same, you never manage to catch their exact position just before he straightens them. You are distracted by the sigh and the hair-fixing, but you believe you know enough now to imagine just what they look like in the second prior. His wandering eyes – and they wander, everywhere, over everything except the people around him, avoiding them as some avoid unsavory sights. The curving of his lips, the sticking of his hands in his pockets, the final focus of his eyes – all just preparations to meet the gazes of others, look at their faces, go back to being who he was before he was gone.

You're worried; you wonder if anyone else has noticed this. You wonder if you're the only who knows that, for eleven seconds, he doesn't want to be where he finds himself. You wonder if you, yourself, are actually really seeing it, and not just imagining things. You wonder if you should be putting so much weight on that sigh, on the way his eyes don't want to focus on anything. You wonder if it is just your own mass of insecurities putting those meanings to his actions.

You wonder if he actually wants to be here even after those eleven seconds pass.

You have asked your best friend, but he had just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders in answer. Or rather, you hinted at asking about it, and not quite well, you could admit. You are worried, in those types of situations, but for a different reason. You are quite sure your best friend knows that there is more than just a regular friendly interest taken from your side in these sorts of matters, but you aren't sure whether you are ready for him to acknowledge that fact. You must first make up your mind, after all. You must first decide just what you would be willing to do and how far you would be willing to go. You are sure that those are the types of things one must consider in situations like these, and although you are basing this on personal opinion due to the lack of such situations in your small town, you are quite decided on them.

Although, truth be told, you are finding it harder for yourself to keep to those decisions as time goes on. Or rather, keep to the conscious effort of making those decisions. There is a part of you that seems to have always known the answers to those questions, and that part of you cannot stop prodding at you and reminding you that you've already made up your mind about those things you are trying to make up your mind about.

You are ready, at any moment, to act upon your feelings. You are ready, if need be, to throw away anything to do so. You are ready to move mountains. You are ready to empty oceans.

And you find yourself with eleven seconds.

Eleven seconds that distance him from the land of the dead and the land of the living.

Eleven seconds that you have the chance to abolish.

Eleven seconds you are not sure you can defeat.


	29. Ligan

Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Hey everybody, sorry for the long impromptu hiatus. A lot of things happened, the most major of which is that my ferret, Pike, had to be hospitalized at the vet's and had to have surgery just around a week into the new year. Not fun. I've been doing commissions ever since to help with payments for his bills and medication, so I've had little time to do any writing, at all.

HOWEVER tomorrow is Valentine's Day (yes, tomorrow, it's still 11pm here, so shhhh). So here's my present to you. :D Happy Valentine's Day! You better appreciate it, since I don't like the holiday.

I also made a cutesie KxK picture for all of the KxK lovers who watch me/read my things, and I rarely do cutesie stuff, so this is BIG DEAL. Go to my profile to find the link for it.:D

I THANK MY REVIEWERS. You keep me alive! :D Review to feed the Zoshi!

OH HEY this is numbah 29, which only leaves 71 to go! :D Yay!

**PLEASE NOTE**: This is sort of a continuation of chapter 2: Tracking. Except there Kyle says that in a month they're going to Africa for Hammerheads. Change of plans, sorta... xD Just keep that in mind, mmmkay?

Love to:

Shannello

Theartistformerlyknownas

Nobodies Have Hearts

***

Title: The K Squared 100

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General/Romance

Collection may contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

***

****

**Ligan**

**Goods sunk in the sea, with a buoy attached in order that they may be found again.**

He honestly didn't know how he got himself into these sorts of situations.

They couldn't have been in one of those floating cages, no. No floating, connected to the boat cages for them. Not for _this_ story.

No, they had to be dropped 30 feet into dark waters, with the evening coming, and nothing but a thin steel line connecting them to the boat floating above their heads.

Kenny glanced up through the waters, seeing the bottom of the boat as nothing more than a dark shadow atop just slightly lighter colored waters. Evening was coming fast, but the cage was equipped with lights along its upper rim. Still, just a few meters from the cage the water was starting to get murky, mysterious. Dark shapes drifted just beyond eyesight, it seemed, fading in and out of reality.

"Is the camera working?"

The voice crackled in his ear, recognizable but spiked with static. He looked over at the other person sharing the cage with him.

Kyle's eyes shone with excitement behind his mask; although he couldn't see the lower part of the other man's face, the blonde was sure he was probably grinning as well. Dammit.

He brought the camera up to eye level, large and cumbersome from all the protective layers it was in. It could have been a little less massive, but this one combined both camera and camcorder, with shared features between the two settings. State of the art, that camera, but all it would take was one drop of water, and everything would be ruined.

He pressed a button, light flickered in the camera's overly-large viewfinder. The view of the cage was good, lit with the lights, but the waters past the cage bars were just as dark to its eye as they were to his. Another switch, and suddenly everything showed up in ghostly streaks of pale green. The cage, the bars, all shone brightly, but now the waters beyond them were lit up as well.

Those dark shapes which had so easily disappeared from view before were now visible, pale, long cylinders with triangular fins and pointed, wedge-shaped heads. Some of the shapes, drifting past with lazy strokes of their tails, presented sides with barely-there stripes.

They'd been chumming the waters for an hour or two before they'd come down; Kyle enthusiastically, Kenny much less so. It seemed their hard work had paid off.

"It's working," Kenny replied with a sigh, eyeing the waters outside the cage apprehensively.

"Great! It looks like we've got a lot to work with," Kyle gazed out past the water at the shapes beyond. He held a long stick in one hand, just around 7 feet of steel pole with a blunt-edged hook at the end. A rubber-topped canister hung suspended from his waist, dark inside it's cloudy plastic, topped full of various dead sea fish. His hand rested on the top, eagerly. "Ready?"

"Am I ever?" Kenny answered humorlessly. He saw the other man rolls his eyes, poke his hand through the slit in the rubber of the canister and pull out a fish. Easily he stuck it on the hook, shoved the pole out between the bars of the cage.

"We should try to get some close-ups now, while they're still a bit wary, and not so agitated. Once they start getting feisty it'll be too difficult," Kyle instructed. Kenny grimaced, raising the camera into position.

"I think I know what I'm doing here…" The blonde replied sharply, earning him a slightly surprised look from the redhead. He shook his head to keep the other man from saying anything and attempted to focus on his work.

Focus on taking pictures of sharks.

Pictures of Tiger Sharks, to be exact.

Pictures of sharks that could very well forget that they wanted fish and decided to try something new, something ensconced in a cage; something soft and vulnerable 30 feet below the surface of the water.

Shuddering, he tried to put shark attack statistics out of his mind.

"Here comes one now…" Kyle breathed, his voice more static than words over the two-way. Kenny focused the camera, aiming towards the fish at the end of the hook.

A dark shape in the water appeared as a growing smudge of ghost-green in the camera's viewfinder. Details resolved the closer it came: wedge-shaped head, mouth slightly open with jagged, mismatched teeth revealed. Mean eyes, fluttering gills. It turned, long triangular fins cutting through the water, the upper, longer fin of its tail moving only slightly in the water. Dark stripes stood out on its side; it was still a young tiger, smaller than the kind they (Kyle) had wanted to draw in.

Still, it was something, and it was moving in closer, its sharp nose having detected the fish's blood on the water. It moved past it first, bumping the small form with its side as it glided past. A flick of its tail sent it curving around, back towards the small meal waiting for it on the steel pole. Another shape appeared, growing suddenly brighter in the camera's display. The smaller shark burst forward, snapping the fish off of the hook and shooting into the water a spare few seconds before the larger shark reached it.

The newcomer seemed to eye the pole curiously, and Kyle waited as the shark drifted closer, nudged it with its sensitive nose. The pole apparently did not interest it further, and it swam off into the dark waters. More shapes were coming closer, and Kenny could see their forms clouding the display. Some were small, very small, either young tiger sharks, or some other species all together. Kenny couldn't tell, that was Kyle's specialization.

"Dammit." Kyle's voice growled through the two-way; he must've hit the button without realizing it. Kenny looked over to see what had happened, frowned. A pale pink mist was wafting through the water towards him.

"Kyle? What happened?" He looked at the other man, who seemed to be fumbling with the canister at his side.

"The top… I don't know, it ripped or something," Kyle's voice was a grunt as he struggled with the rubber top. Kenny watched him, frowning. Something was wrong with this situation, something was…

A near-quiet thud and the movement of the cage brought his attention back up front. A medium sized tiger shark was sliding past, gills wavering and tail flicking. Kenny watched it, followed it with the camera's lens. Suddenly the cage shifted again, this time from the back. Surprised, Kenny turned around to catch a glimpse of jagged, bent teeth gripping at the bars. The shark let go abruptly, its twisting sending the cage rocking in the water again.

"K…Kyle…" The blonde turned around, voice rising in distress.

"I noticed. Just stay calm." Kyle's voice sounded strained. He spared a glance up at the sharks that had come to circle closer, and Kenny could see his face pale behind his mask. "Dammit."

The redhead started struggling with the canister again, more fish blood clouding the water, now mixed with pieces of the fish themselves. Another slight thud, another movement of the cage. Kenny turned around, camera aimed in front of him, watching the ghostly shapes of sharks flooding across the camcorder's screen. The evening had deepened, and only the lights on the cage and the camera display could define what was out there.

"The boat." Kenny said suddenly, glanced upwards. He couldn't make out the boat's shape in the dark waters, but it was there. "We have to tell them to reel us in."

"Do that," Kyle answered quickly. "Do it, I need to get this thing off."

Kenny glanced at him as he contacted the boat captain. The redhead was unlatching the canister from his side, each movement sending more fish into the water. A lone silver fish floated in the water, reaching the bars, and suddenly there was movement beyond them, a flurry of fins and teeth that sent the cage rocking through the water. Kenny spun around, kicking out with his flippers to keep well away from the cage bars that were nearing him. He didn't want to be anywhere near the reach of those nasty jaws.

A sound fluttered through the water; the steel cable above them suddenly tightened. Kenny felt more than saw the cage shift upwards, just slightly.

"Yes!" The blonde was looking upwards happily, camera held before him, when Kyle finally got the canister free. He looked down to see the container floating out between the bars.

"Finally. We don't have to worry about them following us now…" Kyle said with a sigh. Kenny agreed silently, but something was being to bother him.

"Kyle?" He asked, looking over at the other man even as his reflexes kept the camera steady. The cage was slowly inching upwards in the water.

"Yeah?" The redhead replied, looking out in interest past the cage bars.

"You said this cage was safe, right?" Kenny continued, feeling a prickling starting at the back of his neck.

"Yes, it is. It's totally safe." The redhead said, turning finally to face the blond. "I just got rid of the canister so they wouldn't crowd the cage…that can get a little annoying… But seriously, there is no danger to us he—"

The cage jumped around them, a thud resounding through the water. Kenny blinked in disbelief to see the canister, still spouting the remnants of its contents, floating into the water of the cage. The cage shook again, and he turned his gaze back towards the direction his camera was facing.

"What the…" His voice left him; a shark maw, opened so wide that he thought it could swallow both his head and shoulders with no problem, was latched onto the cage bars. He looked away, anywhere, found himself looking at the camera's viewfinder. The sharks mouth was eerily highlighted, its teeth seemed to shine on the screen.

"Just stay calm." Kyle's voice crackled over the two-way, and Kenny whimpered.

"Stay calm? Stay calm?! That thing is—" He was interrupted by another shake of the cage. The shark jerked at the bars some more before letting go. Its tail lashed out as it swam off a bit, but the trail of fish and blood led directly to the cage.

It was huge; looking out into the water Kenny could still clearly see its tail when it head was already lost in the shadows of the water. It must have been at least twelve feet long, if not more. He could feel his hands shaking; the monster was coming around again towards the cage, tail flicking softly in the water behind it, turning slightly to glide alongside the cage bars.

"Let me just get this out of here again," Kyle's voice said in his ear; the redhead was grabbing at the canister. Kenny looked back at the nearing monster, face paling. The cage was moving upwards through the water, slowly but steadily, but to the blonde it might as well have been standing still.

Kyle had managed to grab the canister, and sent it floating out the opposite side of the cage. A small shark dodged for it out of the darker waters, suddenly brushed aside by a larger shark that caught the container in strong jaws. A large cloud of blood and bits of fish mushroomed in the water, darkening the area around the two sharks. Almost immediately two more darted in, dancing around the medium sized shark with the canister. It held the container for a moment, swimming a few feet with the cloud of fish blood floating behind it, before it let go. Another shark darted in, catching it at the edge of the rubber and pulling it open even more. Another few sharks of various sizes dashed in, one by one attacking the canister, some even rolling in the water, all thinking that the canister itself was some dead animal until the moment they attacked it.

Kenny realized he was recording this escalating feeding frenzy, and spun around back towards the direction the monster shark had been coming from. From the corner of his eye he could see Kyle peering out from behind the bars curiously. The water around them was teeming with sharks now, sharks attacking the bits of fish that still remained in the water, sharks attacking other, smaller sharks that had gotten in their way. Sharks all agitated and intent on eating whatever it was they could grab a hold of.

Kenny glanced up towards the boat again. Was it his imagination, or could he see already see the lights of the boat's cabin reflecting off of the water's surface? He looked back down in time to notice a large shape rapidly growing larger on the camera's display.

"Uh, Kyle, I think he's coming ba—"

The shock that rocked the cage this time sent it jerking and dancing around them. Kenny pushed away from the bars he suddenly found himself next to. The camera display was full of nothing but teeth, teeth glaring bright in the night vision, teeth crunching down on the bars of the cage.

He looked up in shock, the breath knocked out of hum by the sight before him. The camera's display was tiny in comparison, miniscule; it couldn't capture the sheer mad size of the jaws open before him. Teeth the size of soap bars clenched around the bars. Pale pink flesh stretched beyond them. There was no talk of eyes or nose, or anything other than rows of serrated, unnatural looking teeth.

This monster was larger than the last, stronger, and it thrashed with all its might, tail whipping wildly behind it. The cage jumped and shook on the steel line, dancing in the water. Kenny found himself horribly entranced by that mouth, those teeth, those lines of sharp, angled triangles, row after row after row. He felt cold, cold. He thought he could see the bars bending. He thought he could hear them squealing as they loosened on their screws.

Kyle was moving, he could just barely see him out of the corner of his eye; he was moving, his hands fiddling with something on his utility belt, but Kenny couldn't see him well. He could see the bars, bending. He could see the teeth crunching through them, coming closer. Closer. He could feel the teeth on his skin. He could feel them…

* * *

The night air was cold on his wet face. He stared at boat's deck, teeth chattering. He felt cold, as cold as he had felt down below. A sea breeze had picked up since the evening, and it fluttered his half-damp hair, sending tendrils of ice down his neck and spine. He shuddered, wrapping his arms tighter around his legs, pressing his mouth against his knees to keep from whimpering.

There were voices nearby, but he couldn't focus on them. Drops of water were gathering at the tip of his nose, wobbling there each time he shook. He was finding it hard to breathe with his mouth pressed so tightly to his wetsuit-covered knees, each breath was a struggle, but he couldn't pull away.

A hand was on his shoulder suddenly, and he jerked away at the unexpected touch. The hand didn't move away, instead traveled across his back to his other shoulder as the person sat down next to him.

"I… I think everything's… everything's on there," The blonde said, his voice muffled somewhat. He swallowed thickly, "Just… do whatever. Whatever…"

"Kenny…" Kyle's voice was soft, just next to him, but he shook his head.

"No. No." The shark's jaws were in front of him again; the teeth glistened. He shuddered violently, felt the comforting hand grip his shoulder. "No. Never. Never."

"I'm so sorry…" Kyle's voice was even closer now, soft and sad. His other arm wedged itself between the blondes knees and chest, his hands meeting on Kenny's other side. He pulled the man close to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was going to happen."

"I… I shouldn't have… never… the sharks…" Kenny whimpered, shaking. He was still so cold; Kyle's touch couldn't reach him. "Never… never… no…"

Kyle shushed him softly, holding him close. One hand reached up to brush the blonde's hair out of his face.

"It's all right, we're out of there now," The redhead murmured, voice low and soft. "Everything's all right…"

"I can't… Kyle, I can't… I can't do this anymore…" Kenny leaned into the other man's body, desperately almost. "I can't do this anymore."

"What… Do what?" Kyle sounded surprised; Kenny felt the redhead's arms tighten around him.

"This. The photography. The documentaries." Kenny closed his eyes, breath coming fast, but had to open them again; the shark was back, the teeth. The teeth. "I can't. The elephants. The hyena's. The tigers and the snakes and… and… always. It's always…"

He whimpered again, could feel the moisture coming to his eyes unbidden. Kyle stayed silent next to him, holding him. It was comforting; it was reassuring. He was a constant. But was he? Kenny wasn't sure, suddenly. He wasn't sure of anything.

A long moment passed. Kenny had gotten quite comfortable as he was, listening to Kyle's heart beat through the wetsuit he still had on. His heartbeat was calming down; he was calming down. The shudders shook him less, then not at all. He didn't want to think, not about what had happened. Not about what could happen. Not about tomorrow or the next day or even the next moment. He just didn't want to think.

"It's all right, Kenny," Kyle said suddenly, arms tightening to press the blond closer to him. "That's all right."

"What?" Kenny asked, puzzled and caught off guard. He tried to pull away, just enough to look Kyle in the face, but the redhead held him tight to his chest.

"I… I didn't know just how much it bothered you." Kyle continued, his voice wavering slightly. "How much it took out of you… I'm sorry…"

"But… it's not your fault, Kyle…" Kenny answered, not quite understanding. "I mean, I agreed to come along, right?"

He felt the redhead chuckle, and then he was being pushed away slightly and his head was being tilted up. He just managed to catch a glimpse of glittering gray eyes before he was being kissed. He tasted salt first, but then Kyle's tongue touched his lips, and he opened them eagerly, meeting it with his own, pushing back against the redhead. His hand found Kyle's head, his fingers twisted in the auburn curls. Warmth was spreading through him finally, growing, melting the ice of fear from his muscles and his bones.

Kyle broke their kiss, his breath hot on Kenny's face. His eyes were deep, shining, and a grin touched his lips.

"This didn't happen overnight, Ken," He said, voice husky, "So don't lie to me…"

Kenny felt the tendrils of warmth, of comfort, that Kyle's words sent through him. He eyed him thoughtfully, wondering just how early in their joint-careers the redhead had caught on; wondered if he himself knew when it had all begun. Shifting his position, he wrapped his arms around the other man's neck and leaned in, forehead to forehead.

"All right… all right, just because I didn't want you traveling to dangerous places all by yourself…" He muttered, blue eyes meeting gray. "…doesn't mean that I didn't have a choice…"

Kyle smiled softly, but stayed quiet, and Kenny was glad for that. It didn't take a genius to see just what had ruled the blonde's decision making processes, and what still did.

"We'll take a few months off then, hm?" Kyle said, still smiling. Kenny's eyes widened in surprise.

"We?" The blonde stared at the other man.

"Yes, we," Kyle repeated, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of the blonde's nose. "Just imagine how much time we'd have to do things together…"

Kenny thought he detected a certain proposition in that statement, a hint at a certain level that their still-young relationship hadn't yet reached. He smiled back, and pressed his lips against the redhead's. All right, a few months of this… and more… and he should be back in form. Yeah. He should be just fine.


End file.
